Till Death Do Us Part
by AnnieBBee
Summary: UPDATED. Seventh year. Draco Malfoy agreed to marry her for one reason only, to save his family - everything else was irrelevant. But lines are becoming blurred and it's hard to watch others fall apart when your own loyalties are being tested.
1. Prologue

**A/N: I've edited this chapter and am in the process of going over the rest. It seems I'm having some sort of love affair with commas and long sentences because my writing is littered with them, so I'm trying to tidy things up a bit. **

**I also realise that there are literally hundreds of Draco/Hermione stories out there but I promise that this one is different and I hope you give it a go. **

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not a figment of my imagination, that would be J.K Rowling's._

_Summary: It was as if a heavy load had been dropped upon her shoulders and she couldn't stop the tears streaming from her eyes. Legally bound...There was a sharp intake of breath from behind them. "Is it, is it...are they?" Narcissa said, rising from her chair and stepping towards the window. "Yes. They are married."_

_This story is non HBP & DH compatible, as much as I loved the books. It's Harry, Ron and Hermione's seventh year at Hogwarts, and Dumbledore is still alive, as is Voldemort. The idea just popped up in my head this afternoon and I thought I'd give it a go, so here it is._

_**Prologue**_

Rain was lashing down against the windows. A crash of thunder shook the building as a fork of lightening streaked down from the storm clouds gathered far above. A tree burned in a field in the distance, smoke rising up and merging into the darkness, an omen in itself.

The room was one of grandeur, yet under the cloak of darkness it was cold and menacing. Shadows lurked in the corners and a draught was spilling in from the fireplace, biting at their toes. For some reason no one was in a hurry to light a fire.

A figure shuffled nervously from foot to foot in front of one the rain soaked windows, his outline stark against the backdrop. There was a distinct sound of a cough as someone cleared their throat, as soon as it had been heard it vanished just as quickly into the thick silence that lined the walls. "S-shall we begin?"

Another flash of lightening illuminated the room, and the speaker jumped once again with anxiety. His head was bowed as if he were afraid, perhaps chasing a band of renegade Blast-Ended Skrewts was more appealing than what he had to do now.

"Yes, yes, minister," came a voice from the shadows as Lucius Malfoy emerged from the darkness, his cloak swishing out behind him. "Lets just get this _questionable_ charade over and done with. And quickly," he added bitterly. His lips were curled in obvious distaste, he made no attempt to hide it.

The minister nodded eagerly in response, clapping his hands together. His head bobbing up and down like that made him look like a rag doll. "As you wish, Mr. Malfoy," he said with a small bow. "Now before we proceed, there are just a few legal matters that need to be s-settled," he said, faltering as he made the mistake of looking up. Four pairs of unblinking eyes were staring back, large crystal orbs in the moonlight. "It is standard practice. You do, of course, want this union to be legally binding in the eyes of the Ministry, do you not?

The question hung in the air. "Of course, minister." Narcissa's answered eventually, her voice quiet but firm. Her pale face was passive, her long hair hanging like a shining curtain around her face. Her hands fidgeted absent-mindedly in her lap, but her gaze kept straying to one of the cloaked figures, her precious son.

More thunder crashed and the minister spoke in hushed tones with Narcissa and Lucius, as if for the time being they had forgotten of the two standing behind them who heard every word. She'd been watching it all, hardly believing that it was happening, that she was here in the home of her enemy. She couldn't even begin to process what was supposed to happen next.

The moment was stretched long and thin; an endless piece of string. The hood itched at her face and her hands trembled, probably blue from the cold. It felt like an eternity before they had finished their agreement.

"Fantastic." The minister beamed as he removed a wand from his robes. There was a small flash of light and a small table appeared between them all. "Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy, if you two could just step over here for a moment please?"

It wasn't a request, but an order. He seemed to have more confidence now that things were underway.

The two remaining figures that had yet to move stepped forward abruptly from the back of the room where they had been waiting silently. Hermione felt her heart beating against her chest like the death march of a drum. It hammered in her ears and she thought she might go deaf.

"Now I need both of you to sign..."

The rain lashed harder against the window and Hermione shuddered, trying to ignore the nauseating feeling rising from her stomach as his words washed over her. She dared not look anywhere but at her feet, wondering if she just thought hard enough that a hole would open underneath her and swallow her up, so she could avoid what it was she was about to do.

She felt him move forward, heard him exchange words that she did not understand, and then the fatal, faint scratching of ink against parchment.

A quill was thrust into her hand, someone wrapped her fingers around it and she forced herself to look up. An unfamiliar pair of blue eyes that were far harder than the voice gave reason to belief met her own. There was no hole to take her away, she really had to do this. She'd promised. But that didn't mean he had to do it.

_Please, _she thought desperately as she stared into his eyes, hoping he could understand what she couldn't say, _please don't make me do this. _

But the minister looked away quickly, ashamed, and all her hope was lost.

Hand quivering, and exerting more control than she knew she possessed to stop herself from bolting, Hermione shakily bent down over the table, signing on the line that a finger was pointing at. She took her time writing her name slowly, hoping for the chance that she would be able to read exactly what it was she was signing. But a shadow prevented her from reading anything and she was lost in the dark, left to wonder.

The moment she was done, the parchment was snatched from under her fingers and with a muttered word and the flash from his wand, it disappeared into thin air. The quill slipped from her fingers and clattered on the table.

It was as if a heavy load had been dropped upon her shoulders. _Legally bound..._

There was a sharp intake of breath from behind them. "Is it, is it...are they?" Narcissa said, rising from her chair and stepping towards the window, her eyes now fixed on the smallest cloaked figure, on Hermione.

"Yes."

She nodded quickly, a watery smile spreading across her lips. "Good. _Good_," she muttered again, more firmly than she had the first time.

Hermione didn't flinch as the older woman came to stand in front of her, but she couldn't stop her shoulders from shaking. It was so cold. _Please don't be true, please say it's not so. _That couldn't have been all there was to it. She'd been expecting so much more, it couldn't be over yet. There had to be more before it were true.

"Show me your hand."

Obligingly, Hermione lifted up her left hand, not daring to look. Maybe, just maybe-

Narcissa gasped. "Lucius, Lucius...the ring!" Her eyes slammed shut as she willed the tears to disappear. She couldn't bear the thought of them seeing her crying. She was made of stronger stuff than that.

"Well what did you expect," Lucius said coldly from in front of the window, a glass of fire whiskey twinkling in his stiff hand. "Our son, and the mudblood Granger are now married." He spat the last word out, and then downed his whiskey in one. The glass smashed against the wall exploding in a reflection of his anger, and without another word, he strode from the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

Married. The word swam around in her head like a torrent. She felt dizzy, disgusted, but more than anything scared. She willed herself to look up to the cloaked figure that stood motionless beside her, but Draco Malfoy did not look down at her. Instead he remained as he was, stood as still as a stone statue - she wouldn't have been surprised to find that he had died from shock.

Aware that his mother was watching her, Hermione returned her gaze to the floor and wondered what would happen next.

Narcissa spoke first. "I think a drink is in order minister, don't you?" She called for a house elf before he could protest and moments later four glasses appeared on the table in front of them, along with a round bottle of a violently red liquid that Hermione had never seen before. For once, she didn't protest about house-elf rights. S.P.E.W seemed like a childish hobby compared to what she was facing now.

An expression of confusion flicked across the ministers face briefly, the situation was more bizarre than he had anticipated, but he dared not insult Narcissa and he replaced it with a diplomatic smile. He kept his eyes fixed on the glasses as he poured, not sure if he had done the right thing. There was good reason, he kept telling himself. There had to be.

They each took a glass each, and Hermione lifted it to her nose finding it to smell quite pleasant, like honey and vanilla.

"A toast," the minister said raising his glass, "to Mr and Mrs Malfoy." He inclined his head towards Draco and Hermione, then downed his drink in one as lightening flashed fiercer than ever behind him. The others followed suit, Hermione didn't even flinch as it trailed down her throat like icy daggers. It was the beginning of the end.

The drink had revived Draco from his silent revirve. "Mother," he said, his voice hoarse and more strained than Hermione had ever heard it, "would you get _her_" his empty glass indicating to whom he referred, "out of my sight. And you," he snarled at the minister as he poured himself another drink from the bottle, "had better get out of this house before I do something I _won't_ regret."

Hermione stood motionless as his words hit her, but before she could protest or say anything in retaliation that she too was just as angry, if not more than him, he had turned his back on her. Narcissa grabbed her by the arm and pulled her from the room. She let herself be led, one foot falling silently in front of the other down a dimly lit corridor, wondering for the thousandth time how she, the cleverest witch in her year, had found herself married to Draco Malfoy. Worse, with no idea why.


	2. Chapter One

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me. I hope J.K.Rowling doesn't notice that her characters are missing. :) _

_A/N: I had no idea there were so many Draco/Hermione stories out there based on marriage. I can promise you though that this one is going to be a bit different, at least I hope it is. And thanks to everyone who reviewed my first chapter, it was a nice thing to wake up to all your comments!_

_Chapter One_

_**Aftermath**_

When she woke up the next morning, Hermione had been sure that the nights' events had to be something wildly construed by her over-active imagination. She lifted a hand groggily to her eyes, squinting at the sunlight that blazed in through the curtains billowing in the wind. It was only when she was wiping sleep from her eyes that she felt something against her skin that hadn't been there when she had woken up the previous morning. Holding out her hand, a small gasp escaped her lips when she saw it lodged there, precariously on her finger.

She sat up quickly, her head spinning viciously before it cleared and she noticed where she was. Sunlight filtered in from two large windows that overlooked immaculately kept grounds into a room that was at least the size of the Gryffindor, if not bigger. The bed was more modest, the sheets soft against her skin. She tried to remember what had happened after she had, well, married her enemy, but it was hazy in her mind. Narcissa had brought her here, and she had said something to her, but it was lost on Hermione what it had been.

Something heavy dropped in her stomach, a deep sense of dread, she only just managed to make it to the bathroom on the other side of the room before she retched in the toilet. "I cannot be married," she choked out, her voice hoarse.

It seemed like hours passed before she moved. Her feet were tangled underneath her, head slumped on arms resting on the cool white china. The contents of her stomach were mocking her in the basin, but the awful smell barely bothered her. Thoughts whirled in her head as she struggled to remember how she had wound up in this situation, and she struggled to think why she had agreed to.

What was it that Dumbledore had said, she thought, pushing the hair that had fallen over her face away from her burning forehead, _"You have to trust me Hermione. I would not ask this of you if I did not deem it worthwhile."_ She trusted him of course, but her trust had wavered when he revoked all of her questions when she had practically begged him to tell her why she, Hermione Granger, needed to marry Draco Malfoy, the son of a Death Eater, the enemy.

But most of all, she wanted to know why the Malfoy's had agreed. It had to be something serious and worthwhile for them to co-operate. The question was, what had driven them to allowing their son to marry a muggleborn. How would it benefit them? Dumbledore had said that she could make a difference in the war by carrying out this commitment. After all, wasn't that what it was all about at the end of the day, making a difference and ending the war?

An owl came soaring into the window and perched above her on top of the toilet, holding out it's leg as it regarded her with it's large eyes. She recognised the eagle owl instantly. Sitting back on her knees she took the letter and ducked just in time to avoid the owls talons as it soared from the room. The parchment was thick, the words scrawled across in green ink in a handwriting she'd seen only a few times before.

_You must leave immediately, and go home._

_You will not tell anyone else what happened last night. Dumbledore has been made aware._

_You will not send a reply._

Hermione stared incredulously at the letter before scrunching it up and throwing it down the toilet. She flushed the chain and watched it swirl round and round before it disappeared with a reassuring gurgle. Satisfied, she hauled herself up and washed out her mouth in the sink, deliberately ignoring the reflection in the mirror. Five minutes later she was walking through the empty corridors, past portraits and exquisite artifacts that she was in no mood to admire as she tried to figure her way out of the mansion.

A door slammed behind her. Hermione whirled around but there was nothing or no one there, nevertheless she broke into a run, grabbing her wand from her inside her robes as she did so. Her feet slammed loudly on the stone floor and she cringed like a child afraid of waking a parent in the middle of the night, but she did not let up. Finally she found a door that led outside, cried "alohomora" and threw herself down the steps, running as hard as she could across the gravel, adrenlin pulsing through her veins, towards the gates. She looked back only once at the imposing manor, almost falling as her eye caught sight of a lone figure standing in an upstairs window. She tore her eyes away; it only pushed her faster and faster on, and she dared not look back again, not until she was safely out of sight.

_Two weeks later..._

"Hermione! Hermione – over here!" A hand was waving above the crowd at her, she saw a flash of red hair bobbing up and down. She rushed over in her direction across the crowd of students and parents, ignoring a wince of pain as yet another trunk ran over her foot and an elbow knocked against her ribs. "There you are," the red head beamed grabbing her arm and pulled her into a hug. "Finally, I've been waiting ages! How are you?"

Smiling for the first time in weeks, she stepped back. "I'm great," she replied, only half lying. "How are you? Did you enjoy the rest of summer?"

"Oh you know," Ginny said, batting her hand dramatically as she helped Hermione with her trunk and they walked towards the train, "it was the same as always. We missed you though."

"You saw me three weeks ago!"

"Three weeks feels like an eternity when you live in a house full of boys, with the only female company your own mother." Ginny laughed. "Anyway, how are your parents?"

"Oh, they're fine thanks."

"Haven't they come to see you off?" Ginny asked, glancing around the crowded station.

"No," Hermione replied bluntly, realising her mistake and forcing a smile as her friend glanced at her suspiciously. "They're really busy – at work, lots of clients. You know how it is," she jumped up onto the train and together they managed to haul her trunk up, "everyone wants their teeth whitened in September."

The youngest Weasley still didn't look convinced. "This way," she said, leading Hermione down the middle of the train. "We grabbed a compartment near the back. Oh – congratulations by the way! You parents must be pleased though."

"Hmm?"

"Your parents!"

The elder girl looked confused. "What about them? I told you they-"

"I said I bet they were pleased."

"About what?" Hermione was glancing wildly around for a blonde head. She'd rehearsed the questions she would ask him over and over again at night whilst she lay awake, now all she had to do was ask them. There had been no letters since that morning after, not one from anyone who knew. Did they not care what she was going through? What use was their marriage if but for a signature on a magically binding contract – surely they could have chosen someone else. Why her?

"Hello!" Someone was waving a hand in front of her impatiently and she startled.

"Sorry Ginny," she apologised.

"Who were you looking for?"

Hermione shook her head. "No one." She was becoming an exceedingly good liar.

"If you say so," Ginny muttered. "In here."

They dumped the trunk in an empty compartment next to Ginny's, then headed off the train to say goodbye to Mr and Mrs Weasley. Molly had hugged her tight and squealed when she saw the Head Girl badge pinned to Hermione's cloak. "Where are Harry and Ron?" she asked Ginny as they climbed back onto the train with a final wave goodbye to the Weasley's. She had only just noticed that she hadn't seen them at all yet.

"I have no idea. Excuse me," she added to a chubby fourth year who had just pushed past her roughly. He scowled back at her, only firing up Ginny's temper. "The nerve of some people."

But Hermione wasn't listening. She'd heard a distinctive, high pitched laugh come from a compartment they had just passed. Pansy Parkinson. She knew that he would be in there too. The girl was like a lap dog to him.

"Aren't you coming?" Ginny was stood a few paces ahead of her, regarding Hermione with confusion.

"Er, you go on ahead. I just need to speak to someone, I won't be long." Ginny stood unmoving, and clearly not convinced. "Head's business."

Not waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel, took a deep breath, and slid open the door. Five heads snapped around immediately, the remains of their conversation hanging in the air, scowls spreading quickly across each face.

_TBC_


	3. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I don't own nada.

_Chapter Two_

**_Unanswered Questions_**

Blaise Zabini spoke first. "Piss off, Granger," he growled, his foot attempting to slide the door shut, but she resisted his attempt by blocking him. He made a move as if to stand up, but Pansy put a hand firmly on his tensed arm and pushed him back down. "I'll do it," she whispered firmly, standing up.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"What the hell do you want, Mudblood?" Pansy asked, drawing the offending word out as if she were stretching a piece of string, long and thin. Her long blonde hair framed her face, highlighting angular cheekbones sharp as chisels. She looked furious. Crabbe and Goyle smirked behind her, mouthing mudblood to each other and laughing as if she was unaware of their juvenile behaviour.

"I said," Pansy began again when Hermione hadn't answered, her voice low and sinister as she advanced on the slightly shorter girl, "what the hell do you want? Or do you just enjoy butting your nose in where it doesn't belong? I'd watch out, boys," she sneered, "I think she might fancy you all. Stupid bitch should be stuck in a pile of horse dung, but sadly life isn't fair, is it?"

Knowing that Pansy Parkinson wasn't worth the light of day, Hermione didn't find it hard to ignore her snide comments. She turned to Malfoy who was slumped silently in his seat by the window, his feet propped up on the one opposite. He looked completely bored and was staring out at the station. Her eyes did not miss the badge gleaming against his chest. "I need to speak with you," she called over to him somewhat impatiently. It was a simple enough request.

Pansy started laughing hysterically, and Blaise was looking at her as if she were mad.

"Now that is just hilarious. Why on earth would he want to speak with the likes of _you_, you frizzy haired bitch?" Another shriek of laughter followed the first, but it didn't reach Pansy's eyes. They were cold, watching her with a deep loathing.

Hermione began to feel uncomfortable in the firing range of their hostility, but she'd been waiting two weeks for an opportunity to get some answers, and this was as good as any. "I need to speak with you, Malfoy" she repeated over her shoulder as she stepped outside the compartment, her voice firm. "Now."

Ignoring the impersonation Pansy was now doing of her (hand waving frantically in the air, teeth over curled lip, bouncing on the balls of her toes) to the sounds of enjoyment of the others, she strode off down the train towards the compartment reserved for the Head Boy and Girl. Hermione did not wait to see if he would follow. She hoped that she was right in thinking he would.

The train shuddered to life as she walked, pulling out of the station. Steam twisted and curled outside the window, forming pretty shapes she didn't have time to admire. Some students she knew muttered hello or greeted her as she passed them and she smiled politely in response but didn't stop.

Without warning she felt a hand clamp tightly around her arm, as another slammed into her back. A scream of protest caught in her throat and wavered as she was shoved roughly into the nearest compartment, obviously this couldn't wait until they had reached the Heads compartment. Inside sat four first years who had been talking timidly to each other. Their chatter stopped abruptly when they caught sight of the Head Boy's face contorted in anger.

"Get out." He didn't have to say it twice, once was more than enough. For a moment they looked too scared to move, then they caught sight of his hand on her arm and he dug it in deeper. One squealed as they shot up and hurried out into the corridor, not looking back. Draco kicked the door and it smashed shut angrily behind them. Hermione winced as he threw her unceremoniously into a seat and turned his back to her, muttering a silencing spell under his breath. She was about to protest but she couldn't think what to say. She'd never seen him look so angry before.

A deep throbbing began to pulse through her arm. She rubbed it gingerly, but her eyes remain fixed on him.

"You stupid, stupid...!" He hissed, spinning around and coming inches within her face. His hands were either side of her on her arms, pinning her against the seat. "What on earth were you thinking?" he demanded.

"Now hang-" she started to say as she tried to struggle out of his grip.

But he wasn't listening. "Don't you ever, ever do that again, do you understand? Do you want to draw attention to yourself?" he raged, anger rising and bubbling from his lips with each breath.

She grimaced. "I-" her arms were starting to burn under his fingertips.

"If anyone finds out-"

She whimpered as he dug his fingers in deeper, still struggling to try and shake him off. It was useless; he was much bigger and stronger than she was. "They won't!" she managed to force out, her throat dry. "Get off, you're hurting me!" It scared her seeing him like this, knowing that he was capable of anything. No one knew that they were in this compartment, no one would hear her scream.

His eyes flickered and there was a brief second or two when all the anger seemed to vanish like smoke. But then it passed and Hermione was sure she had been imagining it. He let go quickly and stepped back, wiping his hands on his cloak as if she were contaminated with some sort of disease, before falling wearily into the seat opposite. Hermione had been offended too many times by his behaviour in the past that she didn't even think to mention it this time. She'd angered him enough by the looks of things.

"Apologise."

She nearly choked with shock. "Excuse me?"

"Apologise."

Hermione sighed in agitation, her heart beginning to race. "I most certainly will not! If anybody should be saying sorry, it's you."

"Well, you deserved it," he sneered. Hermione was horrified.

"Did I? Just as much as I deserved the honour of being married to you?" she shook her head in disbelief. "Is it supposed to be some sort of privilege for being made Head Girl that this has happened, or just an added bonus because I'm muggleborn and have defeated the odds at being the smartest witch in our year?" She took a deep breath, scuffing her shoe on the floor. "I wouldn't know of course," she added quietly to herself. "Because no one will give me the slightest clue as to what is going on here."

He didn't say anything, just sat there with the same bored expression he'd worn on his face earlier as he stared out of the window. She took the opportunity to study him properly. It was funny, after six years she still only saw him as the small pointed boy with slicked back at hair and a sneering expression permanently tattooed on his face. Now he was quite different, standing almost as tall as Ron she imagined, with broad shoulders and strong arms. His platinum blonde hair was slightly darker at the roots and he no longer wore the hair gel he favoured as a child, giving it an appealing soft messy look.

She wanted to laugh hysterically at the idea that she was on her way for her final year at Hogwarts, that almost everything had gone according to plan and yet here she was on the train sat opposite her husband, who was Draco Malfoy of all people, and she was thinking about how soft his hair looked. And that wasn't even the most ludicrous part! No, the funniest thing about the whole unrealistic situation was that she had been married to him with no suitable explanation of why at all, not one tiny reason that would satisfy her curiosity. It might as well have been a homework assignment for all she knew; after all, she had done as Hermione Granger always did; followed the instructions right down to the crossed t's and dotted i's perfectly. There had never been a downside before now, and the one time there was, she ended up married to the enemy. Perfect.

Eventually Draco stirred from whatever it was that was consuming his thoughts, rubbing his forehead briskly. "What did you want then?" he asked gruffly.

Hermione sat up almost excitedly. "I want you to tell me why I had to marry you." She was on the edge of her seat now. "And I want to know why I'm not allowed to know."

Draco scoffed but wouldn't look at her. He had reached into his pocket and Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat thinking he was about to pull out his wand and hex her.

He opened his hand and a golden snitch hovered above him for a few seconds before he snatched it back. She watched him do it several times before she got annoyed. "Whenever you're ready of course, I'd hate to rush you."

"Granger for once in your life can you just keep your trap shut?" he barked. "I know it must be hard for you, what with your verbal diarrhoea and constant need to bombard everyone with your whiny, bossy voice, but it pisses me off and I would prefer it if you said nothing at all." He paused as he missed the golden snitch and it floated over above her head. "I can imagine that the curiosity is probably killing you, and while I would love to watch you suffer right here in this very compartment I'd prefer it if you just kept silent.

"Do you even know the reason?" Hermione asked heatedly, growing tired of his torrent of abuse.

He threw his head back and laughed. It was a dry, cold laugh. "Gosh, Granger, how far off the mark can you get? And you call yourself intelligent? Do you seriously think for one second that I would chose to marry you without a reason? Look at you!"

That jibe stung more than any of the others for some reason, maybe some deep insecurity inside of her that had nothing to do with books and cleverness. But she couldn't let him see that he was getting to her. So she decided to ask again.

"So you know why," she snapped, strength flooding her as her anger pulsated through her veins. The snitch had become tangled in her hair; she yanked it out and threw it at him. "So tell me. Why did Draco Malfoy have to marry the Mudblood he despises more than anything? What was so important that she was pleaded with to go through with it?"

"Have to marry you, honestly Granger, as if-"

"Come off it, that is the only reason you would agree-"

"Really, is that what you think?" he interrupted, his hand clenching around the snitch. "Well well well, a bit full of yourself aren't you? I wouldn't be if I were you, it's highly embarrassing for the rest of us." He was radiating aggression now, clearly in his element. "Didn't that old crackpot tell you anything?" he goaded sarcastically.

"Don't call him that!" Hermione shouted. "You know Dumbledore didn't give me a reason!"

He smirked. "Aren't you supposed to be the cleverest witch in our year?" Sarcasm laced his words. "Really I would have expected better of you. Surely you could have weeded it out of him somehow, after all you are one of the famous 'Golden Trio'."

"Being clever has nothing to do with this! No one will listen to anything I have to say!" she retorted, her voice almost shrilly. Of course he knew it would be impossible to get any information out of Dumbledore, he was just teasing her now, playing with her like some helpless rag doll.

The look in his eye was one of pure happiness, the cat the got the cream. "He told me."

Jealousy overwhelmed her."You know why, so why won't you tell me? Why are you allowed to know what's going on and I'm not? This is not some stupid game we're playing that can be won or lost and then forgotten – marriage is a serious commitment, the contract we signed was more than watertight, it was one of the most complex things I've ever seen. You can't ignore that! You cannot seriously think for one second that it's fair?"

A long silence fell between them, broken only by the fluttering of wings from that infernal snitch he was still playing with. By all appearances it seemed that he hadn't even been listening to a word she had said, he was back to being impassive as ever. Hermione on the other hand was completely frazzled.

"Fine," she muttered, folding her arms and leaning back against the stiff seat. "Fine. This may come as somewhat of a shock to you, but I hate the idea of being married to you, and the abysmal fact that we are, just as much as you do. If not more."

His head snapped back to face her and she found herself much against her will staring into the coldest, most terrible grey eyes she had ever seen. Hermione was almost positive that the hatred burning in them was reserved especially for her. "That is just not possible."

It was a while before he spoke again, but he didn't break his gaze. Hermione wondered what it was he was watching out for, her confusion somewhat magnified and not at all resolved as she had hoped it would have been. Underneath them the train rattled and jumped as it sped along the tracks to Hogwarts, but the thought of them going to school was long forgotten. It was unimportant.

"Now let us get one thing straight, Mudblood," he began a long time later, his voice very small and distant. "The very thought that someone like you," he glanced up at her hair and then she felt his eyes trail down her body, a look of disgust forming across his features, "and I could be married revolts me. It was, up until two weeks ago, unthinkable. I would no sooner have campaigned for your beloved house elf rights than marry you. The fact that we are," he paused, then leant forward across the compartment until his face was inches from her own, his breath mingling with her own, "well, lets just say it takes all of my impressive self control not to hex you into oblivion so that I never have to look at your face again."

Her eyes widened in shock and the colour drained from her face, but he ploughed on as if he hadn't noticed, or didn't care.

"In fact, if it weren't for that ring on your finger," he whispered, glancing at her hand, "I would have probably killed you already, and gladly suffered the consequences of my actions. Azkaban is particularly appealing to me at this moment. So this may come as a shock to you," he said, reiterating her words, "but the truth of the matter is, I despise our binding much more than you ever could think possible, and that," he finished, "is final."

He leant back in his seat casually, staring out of the window at the fields and trees flying past, his hands playing with the golden snitch once again. The sun was obscured by threatening rain clouds overhead, a good reflection of the sombre mood.

Hermione felt as if she had been slapped, and once again tears were stinging at her eyes. For someone who rarely cried, least of all in public, she had done an awful lot recently. Well, she'd be damned before she'd delight Draco Malfoy in watching her suffer any more. She wiped them away hastily, the ring catching her attention once again. She would have sworn that it was enchanted the way that it did that.

It was incredibly beautiful, even she could admit that. A white gold band, embedded with tiny diamonds and three sapphires that glittered as the light fell on it. She dared to think how much it was worth. She thought back to the night that all of this had started to the moment when she had signed her name on that parchment. She hadn't even noticed at first how the ring had suddenly appeared on her hand, magical of course.

"It was my grandmothers."

She looked up but he was still staring out of the window, his expression stony. For the first time she noticed an almost identical ring on his left hand that must of appeared as soon as he had signed the magical binding parchment as well. On their wedding night. It still didn't sound true.

"Don't call me that word again." Mudblood. He knew which word she meant. It echoed in her ears.

"I will call you whatever I want to call you. In case you had not noticed, you are a piece of filth."

A gasp escaped Hermione's throat. "Stop it! Stop it now!"

Draco just smirked.

"I hate you." It sounded pathetic to even her own ears.

"Is it impossible for you to keep your overly large mouth shut for more than two minutes?" He sounded annoyed. "Must I have to keep asking you?"

Hermione jumped up from her seat. She'd had enough, there was only so much degrading she could take. "Enough! I've had enough! This isn't going to work, you are impossible! I am going to see Dumbledore right now," she pointed at the door, "and tell him it's no use. Regardless of the fact that I have no idea why I have to be married to you, you are such an insufferable, pompous pig with childish and immature opinions that even if there is a good reason for this...this union," she gagged as she said it, "I am ending it now, because Malfoy you are a-"

The compartment door slid open with a flourish and Hermione's voice failed her.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting anything." Dumbledore said jovially as he stepped inside the compartment, his midnight blue robes swishing around him, his silver beard tucked into his belt. Professor McGonagall followed hot on his heels, closing the door carefully behind her. "I heard raised voices down the corridor and felt sure I would find my Head Boy and Girl talking animatedly to each other."

Flustered and embarrassed, Hermione stood motionless, her mouth hanging open.

"For goodness sakes Granger, close your mouth. You look like a gaping fish."

"Oh shut up. I thought you'd put a silencing charm up," she said horrified.

"I did."

"Obviously not a very good one. I do hope no one overheard the subject of our discussion."

McGonagall narrowed her eyes, turning to whisper in the Headmaster's ear. "Albus," she said desperately, "I must protest once again that I do not agree-"

Dumbledore held up his hands silencing her words. "There will be time for that later, Minerva. Hermione, why don't you have a seat." He motioned next to Draco ignoring the appalled look she gave him. "Minerva," he said. It was hard to miss the hint of sternness in his voice, but he was still smiling.

McGonagall regarded him for a moment, her face taught. Her attention shifted to Draco before she gave an abrupt nod and sat down opposite them as gracefully as she could, her beady square eyes fixed on the Head Boy suspiciously.

"Now," Dumbledore began as soon as everyone was settled, smiling at each in turn, "before we begin." A wand appeared and he whispered a few words that Hermione took to be some sort of silencing spell. A proper one. She looked pointedly at Malfoy.

"There. I had by chance already taken necessary measures in the Head's Compartment-" his eyes twinkled again and Draco rolled his eyes, "- but I see that you would prefer to discuss matters here." A hand fumbled noisily in one of the overly large pockets of his cloak. Hermione was instantly reminded of Hagrid sat in his hut and she calmed slightly at the thought.

"Sir?" Hermione was perched at the edge of her seat, fiddling with her robes nervously.

"Aha!" Dumbledore exclaimed, pulling out a worn red tin that was very old indeed from his pocket. He pulled the lid off and held the tin out to Hermione. "Ginger nut?"

It was not for the first time that Hermione's trust in him was questioned once again. "Umm...thank you," she replied, tentatively picking one out, not quite sure why she had said yes. It crumbled in her fingers and there was a hint of warmth still clinging to the dough. When everyone had accepted a biscuit (Draco much to Hermione's surprise), Dumbledore replaced the tin in his pocket and popped his biscuit in his mouth.

"Now," he said once he had finished chewing.

"Sir," Hermione could wait no longer, "Professor, I'm very sorry, but I cannot do this." She pointed between Draco and herself, "I don't know why you wanted me to marry him," she continued flustered, her cheeks glowing pink, "and I don't know why Malfoy agreed to marry me either for that matter, but for whatever reason it is, it's not going to work. We can't stand each other."

Dumbledore's cheery expression dissolved and the train rattled and shuddered wilder than even underneath them. She felt Draco stiffen slightly besides her. McGonagall raised an eyebrow quizzically but no emotion was betrayed on her face.

"My dear, I am terribly, terribly sorry," Hermione's heart was pounding so hard in her chest she felt that it would burst out any moment. Dumbledore spoke as if she were about to be told of her impending doom, his voice grave and it did nothing for the way adrenaline was storming through her veins. She felt sick. "The marriage decree that you both signed is wholly binding; that is, for the moment at least, it is irreversible beyond any means."

Hermione wasn't sure that she had heard him correctly. "But people get married all the time and they, they can get divorced can't they, or have their marriages annulled?" She glanced widely at McGonagall, desperation burning the back of her throat. "Can't they?"

The tension grew thicker; the compartment felt half the size. "These are dark, dark times, Hermione. Lord Voldemort - (McGonagall shuddered, Draco coughed but Hermione remained fixed on the elderly wizards every word) - is growing stronger by the day, his followers regrouping and recruiting new members to their ranks. There have been, as I am sure you are aware, numerous attacks on both muggles and magic-folk throughout the summer. It is I fear only the beginning of what will be a very dangerous year for everyone-"

"But what does that have to do with me?" Hermione cried out, jumping up from her seat. Nothing he had said had been new to her. "I know all of that, I know about the killings and the disappearances, it's been all over the news! I want to know what I have to do with this! What does this have to with me marrying him," she jabbed a finger at the blonde haired Slytherin, "why would you ask me to marry someone who despises me more than anyone, _anyone_ else on this planet?"

"Certain events have been set in motion-"

"What events?" Hermione thought out loud.

"-and it is necessary to take certain measures in response to these them. One of these measures," he held up a finger and looked firmly at Hermione who was stood over him, about to say something, "that is absolutely crucial this year is the unification of Hogwarts as a whole. As I have tried to encourage every year, we are only as strong as we are united. This inter-house rivalry that separates us all, particularly between Gryffindor and Slytherin," he looked between the both of them pointedly, his eyes dark and weary, "has long run its course and now is the time to settle the differences that have divided your houses for centuries, lest they damage us further. You two will be highly influential I hope, in making this unification possible."

"Professor that is all fair and well; but that does not explain why we have to be married. You don't want anyone else to find out! Why won't you tell me the truth?" she demanded.

"Miss – Mrs – Hermione!" McGonagall reprimanded, not quite sure what to call the Head Girl, "You will watch your tone when addressing the Headmaster."

But Hermione paid her no attention. She was watching Dumbledore shake his head sadly. "There is a time and a place when it will be right for you to-"

"AND THIS IS IT! I want to know now, I need to know why you have asked this of me," Hermione screamed, no longer caring that she was being rude to her Headmaster or Head of House. "I haven't been able to think of anything else for two weeks! I listened to you as you came to my house that morning, and you asked me to trust you and I did, I did as you asked me to do and the only reason I did so was because I had trust in you! How can you now expect me to just sit here and listen to you when you won't tell me why I had to get married..." A tear dribbled silently down her cheek as she finally gave in to the frustration she felt welling up, "...married to someone who hates me, in secret in the middle of the night, married to someone who I hate...I don't understand..."

Dumbledore sighed. He looked tired. "Hate is too strong a word, Hermione."

Silence engulfed the cabin as darkness began to fall outside, and there was a light rain pattering against the glass. Hermione watched each of them, daring one speak. Draco to her dismay had barely moved at all, his gaze still fixed on the window and the countryside flying past beyond. She imagined he was highly embarrassed by her behaviour.

She turned to him. "Don't you have anything to say about this?" she said bitterly, chewing a fingernail. "Oh, but I'm sure you don't, you already know what's going on don't you. Well, as far as I'm concerned if no one will answer my questions then this marriage is over."

"I will do all that I see fit, Hermione," Dumbledore said firmly, "in order to protect my students. There is more than unity at stake here, you are correct in assuming that, yes."

The anger she felt wasn't subsiding at all. Why was no one else talking, shouting, screaming out loud like she was? Why was everyone acting as if the whole situation was no big deal? "Well what is it? What is so desperate that you force me to do this?" Nothing he had said had calmed her in the slightest the way she hoped it would. "I don't believe this is real, this can't be real...why would the Malfoy's let their precious son marry me? What possible reason is there – this cannot be real, it isn't...did you not just hear me say it was over?" She held her face in her hands, willing herself to wake up from whatever nightmare she had been trapped in. Surprisingly it was Draco who eventually spoke, not Dumbledore.

"Unfortunately, Granger, this is very real. Nothing you say or do will change it." He took a deep breath. "You are, in the eyes of the wizarding law and thus the Ministry of Magic, my wife. We are unrelentingly bound to each other, and there is, as far as I am aware, no way to break this bond." He wouldn't look at her. His eyes fixed on a space on the wall above McGonagall's tight grey bun.

"What does that mean?" Hermione wanted to cry, she wanted her parents to burst in through the compartment door and hug her, tell her none of it was real, to whisk her away and tell her that they were going to fix this mess; that she didn't have to do this. "Does that mean," she croaked, "does that mean we might not be able to get divorced at all?"

No one answered her. All of a sudden none of them wanted to look at her, their heads turned away. Had they expected her to react like this, she wondered, or did they imagine that she would have swallowed all they had said and done everything they asked like the model student she was?

It was then she realised they were never going to answer her questions, not yet at least. She'd been living with a false hope.

"Why is no one saying anything?" she said frustratingly, aiming it at Dumbledore. "You - you tricked me! You as good as forced me to marry him. Well I'm sorry but no." Dumbledore's expression remained nonchalant. "No! I don't care what you say, I'm not doing it. I quit." She pulled on the ring on her finger, but to her dismay it wouldn't budge.

Every heartbeat felt like her gut was being wrenched apart."Why can't I take the ring off?" She pulled on it again, on the verge of crying hysterically, her voice shaking. "It's stuck, and I want it off, I want it off. I can't do this, I'm sorry. It's just too much, please," she begged, "please help me get this ring off."

The sobs were coming quick and fast. Dumbledore stood up to comfort her but she refused to let him near her, her hands pushing him away. How could they get away with this? Why had she agreed in the first place? Nothing made sense anymore. Her fingers continued clawing at the ring, drawing blood on the skin around it. "Please, please, help me get it off!" she begged, turning towards McGonagall.

Minerva watched helplessly, uncomfortable at being addressed in this turmoil. Hermione wanted to curse her for not sticking up for her, for not putting a stop to it.

"I'm afraid it won't come off," Dumbledore said quietly, sympathy amongst his words, "the ring is an incredibly powerful one, and even so, it would not be that simple even if you managed to take it off."

But Hermione couldn't give up. "Professor Dumbledore, I am begging you, please, please don't make me go through with this. I'll do anything, anything else, but this is just too much. How can you-"

"I need you to trust me."

Hermione was defeated and she knew it. Her heart was racing so fast she felt dizzy and disorientated. She turned resignedly to the person she least wanted to face, hating him for being so composed when she was not, wanting him to react, to yell, to do something. He didn't bat an eyelid. She couldn't read his face at all. She wasn't even sure what she wanted him to do.

She shivered, chills crawling along her skin as realization sunk in, and with it quickly followed embarrassment. Hermione could not believe the way that she had spoken in front of them all. She knew she was going to cry and she couldn't do it there in front of them all. She needed to get out.

"I am sorry I raised my voice," she managed to clip out weakly. She was aware of Dumbledore smiling softly as if it were okay, and so badly did she want to feel like she could trust him. But a tiny part of her didn't. And it was that part that had her slam the compartment door open as her resolve finally cracked, that part that forced one foot in front of the next without any idea of where she was heading, thankful that the corridor was deserted at least. The toilet she found herself in was small and cramped, smelling strongly of antiseptic. She locked the door and sank to the floor, never having felt so completely out of control before. A muffled sob escaped her lips and she had to bite a finger to cut it off, she wouldn't cry anymore over this.

The ring glinted in the corner of her vision, mocking her. Hermione Granger was married to Draco Malfoy. She had no more idea now than before of why. And worst of all, there was nothing that she could do to get out of it. If hell did exist, she was pretty much sure that this was it.

*o*

**A/N: I hope you like this chapter, I've changed things around a little bit – I don't want to give too much away yet, as I quite like the idea of building up suspense, plus where is the excitement if you throw all of your cards on the table at once? I've changed this chapter a little bit to make Hermione a bit less...weak if that's the right word. Thank you once again to everyone who has reviewed. **


	4. Chapter Three

_Disclaimer: I still don't own it._

_Chapter Three_

**Of Futures Told and Uncertain**

_Several hours later..._

Something was banging against her head, knocking against her front teeth and ringing in her ears. Hermione awoke with a start, an ache pounding at the her back. She felt dreadful. With a start she jumped up in alarm, banging her head against the light that hung in the tiny bathroom, heart racing faster than a golden snitch. For a wild moment she was surrounded by silence, and she wondered madly if she had been left alone on the train, for a darkness had fallen outside that deep and menacing, as if a thousand nights had come at once.

But then coherent thought and sounds came hurling back to her and she took a deep calming breath. The train was still rattling beneath her feet speeding towards Hogwarts, if she listened hard enough she could hear voices and laughter of Hogwarts students and the munching of pumpkin pasties and chocolate frogs.

Rubbing her face in her hands she took a tentative step towards the mirror, hesitating before she glanced up at her reflection. She looked terrible. Eyes were read and empty, sore from the lack of sleep she'd been experiencing lately. Her skin was sallow, almost as deathly white as Snapes, and that was saying something. It had been tan this morning. And by the sight of her dull reflection anyone could tell that she was miserable.

With a firmness she wished she possessed earlier when she needed it most, she washed her hands in the sink as if she could scrub away all the terrible things that she had become an unwilling part of. But just like blood of a murderer, the evidence clung with unswerving force to her skin, more strongly than any permanent sticking charm could hope to achieve. The ring quite simply, did not want to budge.

Not wanting to think about how she was supposed to hide the blasted thing, she splashed her face with cold water and pinched her cheeks, hoping the small trick her cousins always swore by would work for her in restoring some sort of colour to her face. Her hair, she noticed, was in such a state that all she could be bothered to do was pull the straggly mess up into a bun so that it was out of her face.

Hermione was glad that the corridors were almost empty. She consulted her watch as she walked along towards the back of the train and was surprised to find that they wouldn't arrive at Hogsmede station for at least another hour yet. At least she would get to see Harry and Ron.

A compartment was open up ahead, and with dismay she realised that it was the one she had barged into earlier, wishing now that she had known then it would be such a mistake. _Stop it,_ she told herself firmly, holding her head up high as she hurried past hoping they would be too busy to notice her. _It won't do you any good to go and start dwelling on it. _

For a moment, she felt relief wash over her and she continued on down the train, wondering if it had ever been so long before.

"Granger."

She flinched and for a moment she forgot to breath. She sucked in a deep breath. _Too much. _Hermione debated with herself whether she should turn around or run as fast as her legs could carry her to her friends where he would not dare say anything. But just as curiosity killed the cat, it was going to kill Hermione too.

"Yes?" she replied curtly as she spun on her heels, her face impassive. She hoped more than anything her appearance would not betray her any more than her emotions had.

There was maliciousness glinting in his eyes, like the jagged edges of a sharp diamond. He closed the distance between them, but Hermione who didn't want him anywhere near her took a few tentative steps back in response. It continued like this for a few seconds, a strange sort of dance. Malfoy let out a weary sigh and stopped, resting his hands in his pockets. The glare seemingly vanished from his eyes.

Hermione shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. There was something about the way that he could change like that so quickly that unnerved her. Never would she be able to trust him, even if that was what Dumbledore was hoping for.

He looked lost, as if he didn't know what to say. "What do you want?" she croaked, not aware that her throat was dry as sandpaper.

His vulnerability was beginning to scare her, his gaze so completely upon hers as if they were sharing more than just a secret marriage. If someone like Draco Malfoy could appear scared, then she realised it didn't leave much hope for the rest of them. She knew deep down that he was not as cowardly as he had acted in the past, she knew that deep down he was made of something sterner than most of them put together.

Of course it didn't endear him to her in the slightest, she was merely intrigued. "If you don't have anything to say-"

"They won't be able to see it."

She raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Who won't?" she asked carefully. "What are you talking about?"

He motioned to the ring that she had been trying to hide behind her cloak. "That. No one will be able to see the ring, bar those who know of our situation." His eyes were fixed on hers and she wished more than anything that he would look away.

"It's just as well." She hadn't meant to sound so hard and clipped, but the words tumbled from her mouth before she had time to register them. "I cannot really say that I want to go broadcasting around that I am married to a Death Eater's son." _Stop. Stop now, _she begged herself but she couldn't, and he hadn't intervened. Malfoy was standing there under the light, looking quite unlike anything Hermione had seen of him before, and it was this that drove her 

on. "Or maybe you're a Death Eater yourself," she said, bitterness lacing her words. "I wouldn't be surprised."

The accusation hung in the air, and Hermione didn't regret saying it.

"You don't look nearly as confident as you hope you do.

"Neither do you."

He shook his head. "There's a difference."

Hermione was about to ask him why there was a difference. She was going to ask him why he wasn't insulted by her words, why he wouldn't just go ahead and hit her so she could have even more reason to hate him, despise him; why he was purposefully doing this to her, making her life a worst nightmare. But the questions were left to swirl around amongst her chaotic mind, words lost in her throat.

Looking around the tall Slytherin, she caught sight of Pansy stalking up the corridor, her annoying heels clicking on the floor as she stomped along.

"Of all my luck," she muttered.

Aware he was still looking at her, she folded her arms across her chest. "Is there anything else?" she asked acidly.

"There you are, Draco," Pansy cooed, snaking an arm around his waist. "I've been wondering-"

Her eyes caught sight of Hermione and she stopped, a scowling emerged and her lips tightened. "Gods, Mudblood, don't you have toilets to scrub or something?"

Hermione smiled savagely. "No, but you will soon if you don't stop using such fowl language. Consider this a warning."

Pansy's eyes widened, her grip around Draco tightening. But she remained silent, vicious thoughts tumbling around in her head.

"If there's nothing else?" Hermione asked Malfoy, not bothering to wait for a response. She was pleased to see that he had once again adopted his trademark sneer and looked all the more worse for it. Hermione turned and walked, making sure to keep a steady pace, down the train. Their voices echoed beside her and she caught glimpses of their conversation.

"-swear that bitch...stalking you; disgusting really...should be banned...stupid, ugly mudblood."

Checking the corridor was clear behind her, Hermione took a moment to compose herself. If she was going to do this, lie to her best friends, deliberately mislead them, well, she needed to calm down.

She rested her head against a window. Colours and shapes whizzed past at hyper speed, distorted ugly shapes that made no sense to her. Rain splattered against the window like dirty fingers being dragged across the glass, a fierce wind was howling, trying to get beyond the glass, to get to her. But it couldn't reach. She allowed herself a moment to be filled with false hope that if she could just disappear into the oppressive darkness outside, then maybe everything would work out okay. If only...

The weather bothered her. It was just like it had been that night, she felt now just as she had felt then. Dread on her skin, dread on her bones. Something was expected of her, she knew how Dumbledore worked, Hermione was perceptive, she picked small things up that most others would miss. But what his true plan was, she had not the faintest clue, and she was pretty sure that no amount of library books could help her solve it.

Oh, how Harry and Ron would laugh at her if they knew she was faced by a problem all of her very own that she could not _solve_ on her own, or with her precious books. Would they be disappointed in her? They expected so much better, even if she couldn't tell them, they would expect her to face up to it, no matter how terrible the task. They trusted Dumbledore implicitly, yet she wondered why he didn't trust them to know what was going on.

Her gaze was drawn back down the corridor to where Malfoy, _her husband,_ had been standing. It was still too unreal. "Why am I married to you?" she whispered to no one in particular, longing for an answer.

None came though, and she knew she would have to get used to that fact. Without wasting another second, she hurried down the train and didn't stop again. The compartment door flung open and she found herself in the middle of a crushing hug, her two best friends beaming at her and jumping up and down as they congratulated the new Head Girl, telling her they knew she could do it; sombre faces as they questioned her on where she had been, why they hadn't heard from her in two weeks. Lies spilled from her lips as if she had been doing it all her life, they seemed to buy it – but Harry, she'd have to watch him, there was something in the way that he was looking at her that made her worry, (oh how could she lie to them, when they were her best friends?), and Ron, Ron was smiling at her but there was something underneath it, a warm fondness she could tell that had been bubbling for a while now (no please, not that, not now, no). But she let it go for another day, enjoying their company; together they could be anything they wanted, they had seen so much that it did not matter. And for a moment of bliss Hermione forgot all about Draco Malfoy and the ring that Harry and Ron could not see and she felt content.

And then a hammer came crashing through the glass, the facade broken. Ginny – Hermione had barely noticed that she had been sat in the same compartment, she had tucked herself away in the furthest corner – was ushered out just as the journey was coming to an end, and Ron locked the door.

They stood hunched in the middle, confusion clouding Hermione's eyes as she wondered what else could possibly happen today.

Harry seemed to notice her anxiousness and squeezed her hand reassuringly, but his smile this time didn't reach his eyes.

"What?" she inquired, her voice barely audible above the clattering wheels below. "What's happened?"

Harry cast a nervous glance at Ron before looking back at her. He turned away quickly. Hermione was shocked to see that his eyes burned with something she had never noticed before. "Tell me," she pleaded, "it's him, isn't it? It's Voldemort."

Ron flinched and Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's just a name, Ron-" she began but he cut her off, clearing his throat.

"Harry's had another vision, or he's had another glimpse at what You-Know-Who's planning. He thinks it like some sort of prophecy, something that hasn't happened yet, but will."

Harry nodded, sitting himself down heavily on the seat. Hermione sank into the seat next to him. "But – but that's good news, right?"

"No, it's not."

His words were strained, as if he were trying to believe himself. Harry looked so much older beyond his years that Hermione felt ashamed that she had thought selfishly that she had been suffering the most. It was nothing compared to what he was going through.

"He's, he's building something," he continued eventually, as Hermione focused on him in silence. "Something really big, something he didn't have before."

Hermione looked up at Ron, a questioning look in her eyes but he shook his head and looked down at Harry.

"You know what it is," she said gently, grabbing onto his hand.

He kept his gaze focused on the ground. "Yes."

"Can you tell me?"

He hesitated, then took a deep breath. "No. I mean-" he saw the look on her face out of the corner of his eye and felt a need to explain, "-I'm not too sure, or, I hope I'm wrong."

Hermione opened her mouth to ask why he couldn't tell her what it is, but she glanced up at Ron but he shook his head sadly and she closed it again. Her eyes were drawn back to Harry slowly. There was a metallic taste in her mouth, she wanted to spit it out.

"Dumbledore wants me to destroy it. But I don't think I can."

The words spilled from his mouth. All three seemed to be frozen, as if time around them had stopped. Hermione could feel the train beginning to slow down, the hum of the engines died out and students began to emerge into the corridors, an excitement radiating from them as they returned to school.

Harry broke the stillness. "I won't be staying at school all year, I'm pretty sure of it."

He wasn't looking at her any more. As soon as he had said it, it was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he stood up, flattening his hair over his scar and pulling on his cloak.

"It's going to be alright," he said, for Hermione's benefit rather than his own. "Dumbledore's going to be giving me more private lessons, and he doesn't think I'll have to leave for a while yet."

Hermione felt a rush of pride overwhelm her. Harry was standing there bearing the burden of the wizarding world on his shoulders, yet there wasn't a trace of bitterness in his voice or anger evident on his face. Just the cool clarity of acceptance. It would have been an insult to Harry to protest why it always had to be him, when they all knew why. She forgot all about confessing her secret, ashamed she had been so selfish at even thinking to do so.

"Well, that still gives us time, doesn't it?" she asked, looking between them both briefly.

Harry smiled. "Yeah, of course."

"Anything I can do to help you, I will."

Ron nodded his head in agreement. "We _both _will."

"We both will," Hermione repeated, hoping Harry understood their commitment to him. She thought he did, she was pretty sure he did.

"Come on, let's make the most of our last Hogwarts beginning-of-term feast," Ron said, rubbing his stomach. "I'm bloody starving."

_TBC_


	5. Chapter Four

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter is J.K's brainchild, not mine. The plots all me though._

_Chapter Four_

**Alone in the Dark**

There was smoke rising from a candle wick that had long ago been extinguished. The skin of the pale hand could still sense the fire tickling at it tips, searing heat. She'd been waiting hours that night, but she'd been waiting forever for her husband to come home.

It was not like Narcissa Malfoy to worry incessantly about anything, after all what did she really have to worry about? There were vaults in her name that she had never needed to touch, brimming with gold and exotic trinkets, enough to fund her wildest desires be it a private island far away or the most exquisite of jewels bewitched with powerful old magic. She'd never had to make a bed in her life, be it by hand or by wand; nor had she to clean dishes or cook dinner; she had an entire of house elves that dealt with such menial tasks. She had her son, her most precious, perfect son whom she loved more than she thought could be possible. Narcissa had it all through foreign eyes; if only she did.

She fidgeted with the hem of her robe, pulling at the woven seems, wondering why she had even bothered to buy it. It was just like the many others that lined her many closets, and he never noticed any difference in them. He was too busy. Sometimes Narcissa wished he were devoted to her and only her, but of course that was out of the question.

Her eyes darted back to the clock once again. The hand had barely moved, and a sigh escaped her lips. It was the only sound of life to fill the room, for even her breaths were silent and remorseful. He had never been this late before. Muscles tensed in her back but she made no move to sit up straight.

There was a creek in a floorboard in the hall. Her ears pricked and her heart raced, but then nothing came. She couldn't bear to turn around and look at the open door. It made the time pass so much more slowly. And it was dark. Narcissa hated the dark.

"Lucius," she muttered quietly, drumming a hand on the arm of her chair.

Thoughts drifted as the minutes ticked by, each one reminding her that it was late and she was alone. There was an old picture of them on the mantelpiece that she was surprised to find she had forgotten it had been taken. Her eyes drifted across it, reminding her of a time long ago when things were different. When they had been different.

The crash of china startled her and she reluctantly withdrew herself from her memories, hauling herself up from the chair. She whirled around but the sound hadn't come from who she had hoped.

"Why you-" Narcissa hissed as she noticed the house elf quivering in the darkness, its large glass like eyes wide in fright. Fury rushed through her veins and she wrinkled her nose in disgust at the sight of the creature, her fists clenched at her sides. Usually so collected, right now she was finding it incredibly difficult to keep control of her emotions. She hated to admit even to herself that it was because she was worried.

At the elf's feet lay the broken remains of an old blue vase. A squeak erupted from it's mouth and it dropped instantly on to all fours, desperately trying to pick up all the shattered pieces. "T-Twinkle is s-sorry, very s-sorry Maim," the elf snivelled as it stood up, the remains now held in it's scrunched up apron. "Twinkle will fix it."

"SHUT UP!" Narcissa screamed madly, reaching for her wand. Twinkle jumped back against the wall in terror, her' hands dropping the bunched up apron as she covered her face in fright. But her hands had been holding the apron together and as she let go the shards of the broken vase crashed to the floor. Twinkle slowly lowered her hands. Narcissa Malfoy glared at her, contemplating whether to curse the damned house elf or not.

"Get out."

Narcissa fell heavily back into her chair, arms slumped over the sides, lacking the energy or conviction to cast the most basic of spells. "Lucius," she muttered as her she closed her eyes

She must have dozed off, for when she opened her eyes again, light was tingeing the horizon. Shooting up with a start, Narcissa scanned the room until she saw what she was looking for.

"Where...where have you been? When did you get back?"

Lucius Malfoy was stood rigidly in the doorway. He cleared his throat. "About an hour ago. I would have woken you, but you looked tired."

She waved a hand dismissively. "That is no matter. Do you bring news?"

"Nothing good or bad."

That wasn't what she wanted to hear. Lucius must have known that, for he was watching her steadily.

"I believe they are both safe for now. The Dark Lord is concentrating on his other project for the time being, and has little thought for the other prophecy, though I fear that will change very soon."

"As winter approaches," she supplied quietly when he paused.

"Yes, as winter approaches."

Taking a deep, shaky breath, she turned and walked towards the window. She did not want him to see how relieved she was. "He means everything to me, Lucius. Everything. If anything should happen to him, _anything, _then lord help me what I'll do."

A cat stalked across the dewy grounds far below, a black silhouette against the fresh green. "I hope that old crackpot knows what he's doing."

Lucius moved to stand beside her, grasping her hand lightly in his own. It was almost like old times, Narcissa thought. Only this time they were fighting for their lives, not for power. "It's the only option we have. He is the only one."

A bitter laugh escaped her pink lips. "He must be, if his plan is to have my precious son marry a mudblood."

She felt her thoughts wander as they stood silent together, wondering yet again how they had found themselves between a rock and a hard place. They had everything, and yet she would risk it all for her son. Her gaze was drawn far north past all the trees and hills miles and miles away to where he was now, trying to remind herself that she had only seen him off yesterday. But it felt like she'd lost him many years ago, and she prayed to whoever was out there that she would see her beloved son again. A bottomless pit of dread in her stomach made her wonder if she would not.

_TBC_

_A bit of a short chapter I know, but the next one is almost done and is much longer! And I can promise that things are going to pick up speed a bit more from now on. As always thanks for reading and reviewing, your comments make me :) when its cloudy outside. Until next time..._


	6. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Chapter Five**

**The Girls Bathroom**

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was different. There was a strange feeling in the air, much like a funny smell that was difficult to place, that seemed to echo the apprehension of its students and professors inside that had not been there when she had left that June. Hermione felt it bombard her senses as she stepped through the huge doubled fronted oak doors. Everything seemed to be as it had always been; the grand marble staircase loomed impressively in the entrance hall and torches burned brightly on the walls, sending light flickering up towards the imposing high ceiling that could only just be seen, shadows dancing around them. The paved floor felt solid and sturdy beneath Hermione's feet, but she didn't feel steady or at all supported. Something was amiss, she thought as glanced around, yet she wasn't quite able to put her finger on what it was.

It had been, after all the hype, a rather uneventful feast. Ron seemingly devoured half of all the food on the table with such vigour one would have assumed he had not eaten in weeks, if not months, but everyone knew Molly fed him well. Harry kept shooting what he thought were discreet glances in Ginny's direction. She was sat further down the table, talking to some girls from the sixth year, whispering feverently. Hermione watched as she too, kept glancing up the table, but in that moment what ever was going on between those two was little concern to her. There were other more important things for her to worry about.

She wished she wouldn't do it, but Hermione was finding it increasingly difficult to stop looking up over at the Slytherin table. A half filled plate lay untouched in front of her, the smell of what was once thought of as delicious food assaulted her nostrils and made her want to gag and throw it away, but for appearances sake she resisted the urge. It was hard enough dealing with the fact that every time she even considered eating, as soon as she glanced down to pick up her fork her eyes would fall upon the very source of all her problems, gleaming there brightly as if innocent, and the fork would drop from her fingers and she would no longer be hungry.

He was eating of course. He'd been laughing too, the centre of attention of all his Slytherin cronies who were gathered around him like moths to a flame. Hermione sighed, resting her elbows on the table, propping her head up on a hand, still watching. Draco Malfoy was completely transfixing, she was loath to admit, as he spoke and moved; she could almost imagine the words he was saying, his hands graceful in the air as he made a joke. She had to tear her eyes away every time.

"You not hungry, Hermione?"

A fork tapped against her plate and she glanced up. "Hmm?" she asked, finding Harry watching her.

"Are you feeling okay?" Harry said, his brows furrowing. "You haven't touched your food at all!"

Hermione shook her head and tried to smile reassuringly at him. "I'm just not feeling very hungry," she said, pushing her plate away.

Ron stopped gnawing at his fourth chicken leg and swallowed, reaching for a glass of pumpkin juice. "Must be all that excitement, eh?" he joked as he took a swig. "All those advanced classes to attend and N.E.W.T.'s to revise for. I would bet my left leg that if you could you would go up to the staff table right now and beg Professor Vector for even more arithmacy homework to hand in!"

She laughed along with Harry, half-heartedly thinking that Ron had better get used to having one leg, because he couldn't have been further from the truth.

"Seriously," Harry whispered across the table once Ron had resumed eating and was engaged in a heated debate with Dean Thomas about quidditch vs. football, "is something bothering you?"

"No," she muttered, perhaps a bit too quickly. "I mean," she looked up briefly and the shining platinum hair caught her attention immediately. "It's Draco Malfoy."

Harry's eyes darkened as she said his name. Thankfully, everyone else in the hall was so immersed in their own discussions that no one paid any attention to the two of them. "What about him?" It was hard to miss the distaste in his voice. "Is it because he's Head Boy?"

"Yeah," she lied, wishing that that were all it was. "It's just, well – I don't think I'll-"

She was interrupted by Seamus Finnegan shouting up the table, "Oi! Harry, football or quidditch?" Ron draped his arm around Harry's shoulders and pulled him into their conversation. "Well of course he'll say quidditch, he's the bloody team captain you idiot!"

He smiled apologetically at her but she shook her head, glad of the distraction. It was better saying nothing at all to Harry rather than outright lying to him, or at least easier. Their voices washed over her and she leant back wearily in her chair listening to them arguing over which sport was better, hoping more than anything that the feast could go faster so that she may go to bed. Next to her, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were sat close together and giggling at something. Hermione noticed that they were staring quite obviously at a seventh year in Hufflepuff that she recognised from Muggle studies. He seemed to be enjoying the attention, and was smiling back at them evoking more giggles.

The food suddenly vanished from the tables once everyone (including Ron) had finished, and was replaced by tiers of fairy cakes, steaming apple pies and treacle tarts, gooey chocolate cakes. They all looked so good, and Hermione felt her hand tempted by one of the iced cakes. She reached out to take one, about to say something to Ron who had heaped five different desserts onto his plate, when she felt like she was being watched. Her hand stopped in mid air and her head snapped up. Hermione found herself staring into those same grey eyes she'd been staring at all evening, only this time they were looking right back at her.

She shivered, sinking deeper into her chair in an attempt to hide. _Why was Draco Malfoy suddenly all she could think about? How come he was able to effect her in such away? _

As soon as stomachs were full and desserts eaten, Dumbledore stood up and raised his hands. Like a wave crashing down the noise died in the hall and all eyes were on the headmaster. But Hermione found that she had no inclination to listen to what he had to say and blocked out his speech, only picking up that he was once again asking the four houses to unite against the growing evil. Every member of Slytherin glared. Then Hermione had to endure the school song, and owing to some curious looks from those sat around her for her lack of singing, she reluctantly joined in.

The bewitched sky above them was clear now, all trace of rain cloud had vanished leaving the twinkling of many stars against the night sky. There was a loud rush as students made their way up from their tables out of the hall. Yawning, Hermione noticed that Dumbledore was looking in her direction, and that Malfoy was already striding up to the teachers table. She jumped up from her seat.

"Hey, Hermione, are you coming up to the common room?" Ron asked as he and Harry followed Seamus and Dean towards the crowd forming at the doors to the entrance hall.

"Ron's just bet Dean all of his Chudley Cannon posters that he can beat him in a game of chess!" Harry called back, smiling just like any other normal seventeen schoolboy messing around with his friends. That was more than enough to make Hermione happy.

"She'll be up in a bit."

Hermione turned to see Ginny standing beside her. "I will?" she inquired somewhat confused.

"Yes, you will," Ginny replied firmly, grabbing her arm and pulling her ahead of the boys. "See you later, guys."

Allowing the redhead to drag her through the throng of noisy students shunting their way through the doors, her feet tripping over numerous pairs of shining school shoes, Hermione satisfied her growing curiosity and turned her head around back up the great hall. She was momentarily startled to find Dumbledore and McGonagall stood atop the three steps to the staff table, with Draco Malfoy standing in front of them. All three were looking at her.

She swallowed, feeling a hatred in her stomach so strong that she was shocked she was the one feeling it. _I've done nothing wrong, _she reminded herself. _It's not as if I'm going to blab. _Resisting the urge to glance down at her hand, Hermione mentally slapped herself and disappeared into the crowd after Ginny, all the time feeling their eyes boring into her back.

It was common knowledge at Hogwarts that the girls bathroom in the west wing on the third floor was, as the saying went, "the place to be". It was usually swarming with girls, some crowded around mirrors applying make up, others leant against stalls relaying the latest gossip, a few huddled on one of the window ledges overlooking the grounds far below. Always speading rumours, always telling lies. Hermione tried to avoid the bathroom at all costs. She always felt uncomfortable amongst the giggling and the bitching and the heavy scent of Madam Fluffy's latest perfume. Even though Hogwarts was a school of magic, it was still a school, witches were still girls.

"Hey, look!" Ginny said excitedly, pushing Hermione through the door and past the stalls towards a window, "There's Parvati and Lavender." She pointed towards the two girls who were perched on the cold grey stone ledge, loudly recounting tales of their summer holidays to a group of eager looking fifth years.

Hermione wanted to turn around and question why on earth Ginny had brought her here but she held her tongue and tried to fix a smile on her face. She passed Hannah Abbott touching up her make up in a mirror and muttered hello to the prefect. The room was packed to the brim, it seemed as if every popular girl in the school had headed here to catch up on all the gossip before the morning, and no one seemed to be in any hurry. "What are we doing here?" Hermione asked Ginny over her shoulder, stumbling on her cloak.

Ginny just smiled serenely. "No reason."

Parvati stopped talking and swept her long dark hair over a shoulder. "There you are!" she squealed once she saw them approach. "We've been waiting ages for you!"

Doubting that that could not possibly be true, seeing as they had left the feast only moments before, Hermione just continued to smile. Ginny went and sat in between them, leaving her to stand before them like a guilty criminal to a jury.

"Sorry, got caught up on the stairs," Ginny said, wiggling to get comfy. "Honestly, half of these girls shouldn't even be in here." The three of them glared over at some second years who were huddled together in a corner.

Lavender stretched. "They won't be tomorrow," she projected loudly, and by the looks of their squirming, they wouldn't be.

"Don't be so rude!" Hermione hissed.

"Oh, please Hermione, don't be so righteous all the time! You may be Head Girl out there but in here it's different."

"How so? It's just a girls bathroom."

Lavender and Parvati shared a look as if she were acting idiotically. "It's not just 'a' girls bathroom silly, it's 'the' girls bathroom. There's a difference."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort but Ginny held up a hand silencing her. "For merlin's sake can we just drop it please, we don't have all night."

"You're right," Hermione said with a sigh of relief. "I've got, some, um, head duties to attend to."

Parvati rolled her eyes and grabbed Hermione's arm. "Not so fast Miss Perfect, we haven't even asked you anything yet!"

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Asked me what?" She turned to Ginny. "Why am I here again?"

"Because," the red head began, "we want to know about Draco Malfoy."

Her large brown eyes widened in shock at the mention of his name. A pin could have dropped and everyone in the bathroom would have heard over the silence that descended, all the giggling and constant chatter had vanished. All eyes were turned towards her, waiting for her to speak. Hermione felt dizzy at the thought.

It was a while before she was able to compose herself enough to speak. "I don't know what you're on about." _Don't panic. There's no way any one could know. _Even so, Hermione instinctively pulled her cloak down over her hands.

The three Gryffindor's were watching her intently. "Oh come now, of course you do. He's Head Boy, you're Head Girl..."

"So?"

"_So_?" Lavender repeated, "Blimey, do I have to spell it out for you?"

Hermione just stood motionless, completely unaware of what they were on about. Parvati scoffed and started playing with her nails. No one else in the bathroom had made any attempt to hide the fact that they were eavesdropping.

"I guess you do, Lav," the dark haired girl said eventually to her blonde haired friend.

Lavender beamed, a look of adoration on her face as her eyes glazed over. "He's only the most gorgeous, good looking guy at Hogwarts – honestly Hermione, surely you knew that! And you get to spend the whole year with him. Imagine," she said dreamily.

That very notion filled her with nothing but sickness. Not used to being treated like an idiot, Hermione had to compose herself before she thought about what to say. She hadn't quite expected this. "Have you not forgotten," she managed to blurt out eventually, "that _Malfoy _is nothing more than a retched, foul, cold wizard who in more likely than not involved in _dark magic _– his father is a death eater! And you're telling me he's good-looking as if nothing else matters?"

"Hermione!" Ginny squealed as several girls standing around them hissed at the mention of dark magic.

"Oh come on, don't be so ridiculous. You know I'm telling the truth."

"That's not the point," Parvati responded with a smile. "Who cares about all that, he is still absolutely gorgeous."

"Who cares?" Hermione felt her temperature rising rapidly. "I care! I cannot believe what I'm hearing." She glared at Ginny who was still sat serenely as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. "In case you had not noticed, Ginny, Malfoy is Harry's worst enemy at this school, not to mention mine."

Patting her arm reassuringly, Ginny shook her head and sighed wistfully. "Heavens Hermione don't take everything so seriously, it's only a bit of fun. Lighten up will you."

"And anyway," Parvati said as she took out a stick of lip gloss from her cloak and applied it to her lips, "you're forgetting one important thing."

"And that is?"

"That Dumbledore would never have chosen Draco Malfoy to be Head Boy if he didn't have absolute trust in him. I think that says a lot, don't you?"

With that, she stretched her legs out and jumped off the ledge, closely followed by Lavender at her heels. "Night night," they called over their shoulders as they left the bathroom, a crowd of gaggling girls swept up behind them. Hermione found herself alone with Ginny.

"Sorry about that," the younger girl said as the smile fell from her face, replaced with the same look Hermione had seen on the train. "I just wanted you to loosen up a bit. You looked so miserable at dinner."

She let out a long breath, her shoulders sagging with weariness. Hermione moved to sit against the window next to her friend, the cold glass refreshing against her back. She closed her eyes.

"Did something happen?" Ginny pried after a moment, linking her arm through Hermione's. "I mean, you looked so different after you came out of that meeting, did Malfoy do anything?"

"No."

Ginny clamped her mouth shut, but didn't apologise for asking.

They sat silent for a while. "What about you?" Hermione said eventually, twisting her head to look Ginny in the eye. When she looked back confused, she continued, "on the train, you looked like you were upset. Is it something to do with Harry?" The younger girl nodded her head soundlessly. "Care to talk about it?"

"It's just so unfair. I've tried to tell him, told him time and time again that I want us to be together, regardless of the risk. I mean, for all we know," she took a shaky sigh, her silence saying what she could not, "why not make the most of the time we do have, than play this silly game where both of us get hurt."

"And I suppose Harry said no."

Ginny nodded. "He said he cared about me too much. He said it's better this way. Better how?" she added in a whisper, chewing furiously on a fingernail. "It's not as if I'm not in any danger now, is it? We all are, it doesn't take a genius."

"I know Gin."

"I think I love him, Hermione. In fact," a sob choked her throat, "I know I do."

Not knowing how to comfort her, Hermione squeezed Ginny's hand hoping it would be enough. Sleep was tugging at her brain and she had to force her eyes to stay open, even the chill of the stone bathroom was not enough to keep her alert any more.

"Have you told him?"

"On the train. I was trying to make him see how much he meant to me, but it turned into this huge argument and he kept going on and on about how he was only trying to protect me. Then Ron came in and everything got worse."

"Oh."

"I just can't get him to change his mind. I hate this sodding war." She sank against the wall in defeat, and nothing Hermione could say or do could even begin to cheer her up. Instead she just sat next to her, hoping it would provide at least some small comfort.

"Merlin's beard, Hermione, look at the time!" Ginny cried as she checked her watch. She jumped off the ledge and ran to the sink, her hair flying out behind her, and washed her face hastily with cold water. As she was checking her reflection, Hermione slid of the ledge and rubbed her tired eyes, feeling the ring against her cheek.

"I think Professor Dumbledore wanted to speak to me," she said casually as she followed Ginny out of the bathroom.

They stepped out into the torch-lit hall, and Ginny let out a small gasp. She whirled on the spot to face Hermione. "I think you're right," she said.

Hermione glanced nervously over Ginny's shoulder. Dumbledore was stood at the end of the corridor, appearing to be admiring a portrait, his hands clasped behind his back.

"You'll be okay?"

Knowing it should have been her asking the question, Hermione just nodded in response. Ginny bade her goodnight, a smile plastered across her face completely hiding the fact that she had been upset moments earlier, and Hermione watched enviously as she disappeared along the corridor towards the Gryffindor common room.

She took a deep breath, then slowly walked towards the headmaster, her footsteps echoing noisily on the walls. Her mind felt hazy and clouded, and she hoped whatever he wanted to speak to her about would be brief.

"Ah," Dumbledore said looking up, "There you are, Hermione." His words were softly spoken, his gentle smile crinkling at the corners. Suddenly she felt appalled at how she had acted on the train. He was still her superior, and her conversation with Ginny about Harry had put things in perspective. Maybe Dumbledore was doing for her what Harry was doing for Ginny, protecting her. But she was too tired to consider what from.

She glanced up at the portrait, but she couldn't see anything. It was just a blank canvas. "If you look close enough," she heard him say next to her, "then you will see it."

Straining her eyes, she looked harder, becoming more and more frustrated when she could see nothing. "Sir," she began, ringing her hands nervously as she faced him, "Sir, I want to apologise for earlier, for the way I acted on the train."

"I can imagine for someone with a mind as questioning as your own that it must be rather terrifying to not be given any answers to your questions." There was a hint of mirth in his voice and she couldn't help but smile at his assessment of her. "There is no need to apologise, my dear."

"Still."

He motioned with long thin fingers for her to follow him as they set off down the hall. "I dare say it is I who owe an apology to you."

The urge to demand answers from him, to scream and shout that she had a right to know why she had to be married to Malfoy was so great she thought she would burst, but somehow she managed to hold her tongue. She had been in danger earlier of being more than just rude, and didn't fancy testing her luck again on the same day.

"Where are we going, sir?" she asked after they had been walking for a while. They had been heading in the opposite direction to the Gryffindor common room. Of what she knew from studying the Marauders Map, Hermione guessed they had headed to a section of the castle where the teachers resided.

"As you may have been aware," he turned left down a corridor, "one of the benefits of being Head Girl is that you have the privilege of having your own room."

At the end of the corridor, there was a small, unmarked oak door, with no lock or handle. "Here we are," he said, stopping front of the door. He pulled a large golden key from up his sleeve. "This is yours."

Hermione took it from him carefully, expecting it to be much heavier than it was. It was simple in design, with her name engraved along one side. A small loophole was located at the top of the handle. Dumbledore must have seen her examining it, for he clapped his hands together with a laugh. "I'd almost forgotten," he said jovially, pulling a long gold chain from up his other sleeve.

If he expected her to get excited about it, he was wrong. Hermione had so many confusing thoughts running through her mind that she was finding it difficult to focus. "You need to say the password for the lock to appear on the door, I took the liberty of choosing one for you both for the time being until you desire to pick your own."

Her heart raced. "Both? Sir, you cannot possibly mean-"

"Custard Creams," he said, cutting her off abruptly.

It took mere seconds for a lock to appear on the right side of the door, but Hermione paid it no attention. Dumbledore waited patiently for her to move, took the key from her outstretched palm, threading it on to the chain with expert fingers, before putting it in the lock. It clicked twice as he turned it anti-clockwise three times, and he pushed it open, removing the key and handing it back to her.

"I will now bid you goodnight, Miss Granger." There was a formality to his tone that Hermione would not dare arguing with. She sighed in defeat.

"Goodnight," she called after his retreating figure, shaking her head in mystery. Her two encounters with the headmaster that day had been the strangest encounters she'd ever had with him, and it did little to ease her concerns. If possible, she felt even more anxious than ever.

She considered closing the door and heading back to the Gryffindor common room, sleeping on the couch if she had no bed in the girls dormitory, but curiosity got the better of her and she couldn't resist at least having a look inside.

The room was quite big, with one wall dwarfed with large floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the lake. The walls were bare stone bricks, covered in numerous tapestries, each one representing a school house. A marble fireplace burned on the other wall, the smell of ash and smoke reminding Hermione of a skiing holiday taken with her parents when she was ten. There were three more doors situated around the room, one off of a small balcony that overlooked the rest of the room, one below that, and another down a flight of steps on the opposite wall.

The door under the balcony opened and Hermione jumped in surprise, her breath catching in her throat as Malfoy stalked across the room in front of her, his face impassive. Before she'd even blinked he disappeared down the stairs, slamming the door behind him.

Hermione immediately hated the room, but she could not persuade herself to leave at such a late hour. Stifling a yawn, she climbed the stairs up to the balcony and carefully opened the door. She had been right to assume that this was her room, in the darkness she could make out that the bedspread on the bed was red and gold, and a portrait of a lion hung over a desk.

Without even opening her trunk to retrieve her pyjamas, she fell wearily onto the bed, pleased it was as soft and comfortable as it looked. She felt drunk with nauseating thoughts, spinning so fast in her head she didn't think they'd ever stop, yet alone let her sleep.

Her head fell with a heavy thud against the pillow, and before she knew it she was out like a light.

~o~


	7. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer: If I had written Harry Potter I wouldn't be the poor student that I am.**

**Chapter 6**

**Backstage Gossip**

"I just don't understand."

Hermione let out another exasperated sigh. "Ron, do I honestly have to go over it again?"

Ron gazed back at her helplessly, his face devoid of any sign that he had understood anything that she had said in the last half an hour. Hermione had to remind herself that at least he was making an effort with their Potions homework and not just copying hers, but that didn't stop the frustration that was slowly getting to her. She shook her head, reaching for the quill that she had thrown on the table moments ago.

"The strength of a Firmamentum Solution," she recited, stabbing the quill at the page open in front of them of _Unabridged Advanced Potions for the Truly Advanced,_ "is proportionate to the age and mass of Hycanip roots used in the potion, and the method of their preparation. It is _not _based on the size of the leaves or the conditions in which they are grown, although this can of course influence the overall strength of the potion concocted, which must be taken into consideration." She took a deep breath as she lifted the quill from the page, revealing a small but obvious dent.

"So the strength doesn't just increase if you add more roots?" Ron asked timidly, afraid to anger her anymore.

A small smile broke across Hermione's face. "No, it doesn't. In fact the strength can decrease if the roots used have not matured and too much is added. You hear that Harry, I think he's finally got it."

Harry looked up from the Quidditch team chart he was pouring over in his armchair by the fire. "About bloody time. No offence Hermione but I was about to scream if I had to you explain Strengthening Solutions one more time."

She laughed. "Don't worry, so was I." She turned back to Ron who was sat next to her at one of the tables scattered around the Gryffindor common room. She watched as he hastily scribbled away at his parchment. "So it makes sense to you now?"

"Yeah," he replied, looking up briefly and smiling at her, "I think it's sunk in. Thanks Hermione, you're a life safer."

Harry got up and dumped his charts on top of the table. "Snape is such a git," he said sitting down as Hermione unrolled a clean sheet of parchment. "That's the fourth piece of homework from him that we've had in barely a week, not to mention all the reading he's having us do before each lesson. It's ridiculous!"

"McGonagall's just as bad," Ron said as he paused his frantic scribbling, pretending to scan his book for the correct spelling of something as Hermione scowled at him. "Twenty inches on the dangers of being an Animagus. There's a record."

Hermione was about to tell him off, she didn't have a problem with complaining about Snape who seemed to be in an even worse mood this year than ever before, but McGonagall was a teacher she admired greatly and hated to hear attacked. She didn't want to be disloyal to the teacher of one of her favourite subjects, even though her respect for her head of house had diminished somewhat after the events on the Hogwarts express two weeks earlier.

She stared down at the empty expanse of the parchment in front of her onto which she was supposed to translate a portion of text from a literary piece of her choice into Ancient Runes. "It's our final year," she said quietly. "We have our N.E.W.T's – what else did you expect?"

Silence engulfed the three of them as they sat and contemplated the idea for a while. It had been literally shoved down their throats from the moment the seventh years had taken their seats in their first class in September, and all their teachers had been relentless in making sure that no student forgot it ever since.

"Your final year at Hogwarts is more important than all the rest put together," McGonagall had told them as she stood arms crossed and intimidating, glancing at each student in her class individually as if she were judging their worth there and then. "What you achieve this year has the possibility to shape the rest of your lives, so I will tell you now that you had better make the most of it, for come June there shall be no going back."

Professor Flitwick had been the same. His usual cheery manner was feared lost for good when he lectured them stony faced from the top of his stool on a sunny Friday afternoon about the difficulties of the year ahead. It was as if, many thought, that they were all considered doomed to fail.

"Fred and George were never pressured like this," Ron said as he finished his essay for Snape, screwing the lid on his ink pot. "They had the time of their lives in their last year of school. They told me they got lectured, but I swear it wasn't on a scale like this."

Harry was fiddling with his wand, his eyes unfocused. "Well, I think we can guess what's different about this year."

Hermione shot a glance at Ron who looked back knowingly. They had been waiting for this. "Don't talk like that, mate."

"Why not? There's no point denying the obvious, is there?" He spoke in tones that were devoid of anger, just the clear sound of acceptance. "Everyone is worried about Voldemort, about what he's doing now. They can't gloss it over by making us work harder. It's not as if this should all really matter to me." He gestured at the books and scraps of parchment that littered their table, his eyes flicking across the room to where Dean, Neville and Lavender were sat, themselves buried under a pile of homework.

"Hey," Hermione said gently, kicking her foot lightly against Harry's leg under the table, reminding them that they were still there. "You're going to be an Auror, so you'd better do some more work. I'm sure," she said, leaning across the table to look at the page he'd been reading, "you'd need to know how to disarm and stun a pixie puff before you can qualify!"

Ron raised his eyebrows. "I think Harry and I will try and stick to the jokes from now on, Hermione. Yours are just not that funny."

Her mouth fell open as she sat back in her chair and Harry snorted. "I've just spent an hour of my time helping you and now you mock me?" she asked, trying to sound furious but turning towards Harry and smiling at him, relieved to see his eyes twinkling.

"An hour of your time that you would have spent on homework anyway!" Ron protested as he packed his things away in his bag. "At least I'm trying though. I could have asked to copy yours."

She slapped him on the arm. "Too far," Harry muttered under his breath to Ron, as Hermione's face darkened.

"Are you not patrolling the halls tonight?" Harry asked quickly trying to change the subject before an argument broke out.

"No, Hannah and Justin are."

"I still can't believe you have to live with Malfoy," Ron said as he stretched his arms out over his head. "I'd rather sleep out in the cold than have to sleep within fifty feet of him."

Hermione fiddled with the ring on her hand that they couldn't see absent mindedly. The common room was almost empty now as everyone trickled slowly up to bed. She hadn't realised that it had gotten so late. "Good job it's me that has to live with him then, isn't it?" she replied wryly, her eyes focusing on the text in front of her. "It's not so bad really. I barely see him at all, and if I do he doesn't say anything to me. I just stay in my bedroom and keep to myself."

The fire caught her attention and she watched for a while at the flames burned, the orange tendrils caressing the wood logs almost lovingly. In reality it was consuming them until only ash was left. She hoped that she had sounded convincing. Hermione was afraid to admit the truth to Harry or Ron of how terrible is was to live with Malfoy when there were so many other things to worry about. Voldemort was a far more horrific problem for Harry than Draco Malfoy was for her, and she wasn't about to insult anyone by thinking otherwise.

Knowing how much Harry hated the idea of his two best friends talking about him behind his back, Ron and Hermione had only managed to snatch a few moments of conversation in private when he had disappeared for a 'lesson' with Dumbledore one Friday evening. They had only agreed to do all that they could to keep him from slipping away from them, aware that he would possibly try to so for their own safety, before Hermione had to leave for her duties as Head Girl.

She stifled a yawn as she blearily checked her watch. "I wish I could just sleep here," she said wistfully as she gathered up her books. Hermione did anything she could to avoid the Head quarters.

"You've already crashed on the couch three times this week!" Harry said. "You gave Dobby the fright of his life that night you jumped up from the couch screaming!"

"I know," Hermione said guiltily. "I had to knit him a scarf and a pair of socks as an apology to him. I completely forgot about the House elves cleaning the common rooms at night."

"So Malfoy really is being a git then. We knew it! What's he doing?"

Hermione looked up from the parchment she was stacking and found them both watching her, worried expressions on their faces. "No," she began, shrugging her satchel over her shoulder. "I told you he just ignores me, which is fine by me any day. He doesn't _do _anything to me. I'd just prefer being nearer you two in case anything happens."

They didn't believe her, she could tell, but it had been a weak lie. She caught the look that Harry shot Ron and realised that it wasn't just Harry that was being talked about behind backs. She'd have to come up with something better than that if she was going to convince them.

"Honestly."

"Hermione, how many times have you said "honestly" recently?" Ron inquired. "It's as if you're trying to convince yourself that you're telling the truth, because you must know it's not working on us."

She froze momentarily before regaining her composure. She had to keep it together. It wasn't fair to burden either one of them with something she had under control. "Look, Malfoy is just being Malfoy," she said, lowering her voice. "How many times do I have to tell you I can handle it."

Harry jumped in this time. "Hermione, you've been here for the both of us more times than I can remember. If something is going on, we want you to tell us."

"And don't say it's not important or be dismissive. Just because You-Know-Who is out there doesn't mean that we aren't able to worry about other things. Especially if other things concern Malfoy." Ron divulged.

Hermione sagged against the back of her chair, chewing her lip nervously. Her hands rested palm down on the table in front of her, her nails chipped and dirty. "I'm not lying to you. My only problem with Malfoy is that I don't understand Dumbledore's trust in him."

Harry and Ron didn't know either which wasn't much comfort. She didn't tell them much about their brief encounters for fear that they would take action into their own hands and get in trouble. Hermione had been foolish to assume that living with Malfoy would be bearable, thinking she could just avoid him and stay in her room. But it wasn't so easy.

If he wasn't completely ignoring her presence as if she did not exist

She solemnly bade them both goodnight, and with the very thought on her mind, slowly made her way back to the heads quarters. Her heels dragged against the floor and her leather bag weighed down heavily upon her shoulders as she moved soundlessly down the stairs and along corridors to the other side of the castle.

_Why did Dumbledore trust Malfoy? What was it that justified him making him Head Boy? What reason did he have for having her marry him_?

The most believable reason that she could come up with was that he didn't trust Malfoy, and had simply put them together to have her keep an eye on him. But Hermione knew somehow that that couldn't possibly be true. Dumbledore knew everything, or as good as, about what happened under Hogwarts' roof. And Malfoy...well, the way he acted around the headmaster was different. She'd seen it on the train, and in the great hall. But she was no closer to the reason why, and had to live with the burgeoning questions until someone deemed it necessary to tell her.

Whispering voices caught her attention and Hermione stopped walking. She turned in the corridor, and listened carefully. A giggle came from behind a closed door, and she strode towards it, ready to deduct points from whoever was breaking the curfew. Her feet came to a grounding halt however when she realised that she was on the third floor in the west wing, standing outside the girls' bathroom.

She sighed. It was childish but she didn't fancy much going in there and angering any one, most particularly not gossiping girls, even though she was Head Girl and usually cared little about what anyone thought of her. A better idea would be to play total ignorance and hurry to bed herself thereby avoiding any confrontation.

She was halfway down the corridor when the voices grew louder and a snippet of conversation floated over to her.

"Can you believe it?" a voice hissed, high pitched with excitement. "I mean, I thought he'd finished with her last year...she's been playing down the rumours ever since-"

A different voice spoke up. "But now they're back together? Are you sure?"

"Absolutely! I heard it from Pansy Parkinson herself. She was boasting to anyone that would listen."

"I still can't believe it...I mean, what does Draco Malfoy see in a girl like Pansy?"

Hermione felt her pace slacken until she stood frozen as the words hit her. She recognised the voices now, Romilda Vane and Ashley Quirke, both Gryffindor fifth years.

"Well, I guess she is sort of pretty in that trying too hard way."

There was a large cackle of laughter and Hermione turned slowly, noticing the shadows moving in the gap under the door. Fury suddenly raced through her and without thought she clenched her fists against her sides, instantly curious.

"I guess it's all to do with being in Slytherin and you know...blood purity." Romilda whispered the last part, but Hermione caught it, her ear against the door. She dreaded to think what it would look like if someone were to appear around the corner at that precise moment.

There was the sound of rushing water. "What I wouldn't give to be in Slytherin. I wish Draco Malfoy would ask me out."

Hermione could barely contain herself, riddled with anger as she was. She pushed the door open and it slammed against the wall. "What are you two doing?" she demanded.

The two girls jumped in surprise and the lipstick Romilda was applying to her lips clattered onto the floor. Both looked sheepish.

"Well?"

The dark haired Gryffindor recovered first. "We were, um, just using the bathroom," Romilda muttered, kicking the lipstick under the sink with her foot.

"At half eleven at night? Surely you could have used the girls bathroom in the Gryffindor common room?" When neither answered, she lowered her voice. "I hate doing this, but five points each from Gryffindor. If I catch you again, it will be detention. Understand?" She was practically growling.

Both nodded in response. "Okay. Now get back to bed quickly, before someone worse than me catches you breaking curfew."

They bolted past her, their hurried footsteps echoing behind them. Hermione swore she heard Romilda say "I hope we run into Malfoy patrolling" and she felt like screaming. She looked around the bathroom in disgust, before storming out.

Did this mean he was cheating on her? Surely it counted as an extra-marital affair? But technically as far as she knew their marriage was just a legality and nothing more, so what did it matter. Why should Hermione Granger give a damn what Malfoy got up to. _As if I care, _she thought resentfully, removing the key that hung around her neck as she reached the door and shoving it in with more force than necessary. She threw the key down on the table on the other side of the door and threw herself down on the couch, her bag slipping from her shoulder.

She knew she had to start her ancient runes essay, and finish an arithmacy chart, but her eyes felt as heavy as lead and she couldn't concentrate. All she wanted to do was sleep.

~o~

_She was blind. She had to be, for she could discern nothing – shapes, sights, everything was a dark blur that faded into one. She must have been deaf also, for there was no sound as she moved along, why she thought she was in motion she knew not, just that she was. It was cold. And frightening. At least she could still feel. _

"_This was not supposed to happen!"_

_She span around, her heart pounding in her throat. Two figures approached at speed, but they too were barely indistinguishable from the darkness. _

"_It has happened, we must accept that," a second voice replied, a lot calmer than the first, "and we must proceed."_

_They had almost reached her and she panicked, throwing herself against a wall that had just appeared from nowhere, screwing her eyes tightly shut. So she could see, she surmised as she felt the smooth surface with her hands. It definitely hadn't been there before, but it was as solid as it should be._

_Footsteps passed her by and she went unnoticed. "But surely we cannot continue with this course of action, it is too dangerous." The voice floated towards her, she noticed it had become more desperate. "He will discover." _

"_Now, now, Lucius, calm down. Let us not presume what will happen. I am confident it is safe to proceed."_

_Her ears pricked at the mention of his name as realisation dawned. Answers beckoned to her questions that had been refused answers and she opened her eyes. Their voices were fading down the corridor and she quickly pushed herself away from the wall, running after them._

"_...it is not up to you to decide, his decision is his own. I will not force him, and neither will you."_

"_...something feels wrong about all of this. He even mentioned Notts name in passing to me, I do not believe it a coincidence, he must know! I must once again protest that I do not believe that this is the correct course of action -"_

"_Do you trust me, or do you not?" The calmer voice asked. _

_They disappeared around a corner and she ran to follow after them, but when she turned the same corner the two figures were nowhere to be seen. She glanced around wildly, wondering where they could have possibly gone, when she noticed an ornately carved door. Without thought she went towards it, her hand gripped the handle, and_

~o~

"Granger."

Morning sunlight burned as her eyes flew open at the call of her name and she slammed them shut again, desperately trying to re-visualise the door she had just seen. But it was no use, she was granted with the sight of nothing.

"Granger?" a voice called again.

Her eyes shot open once more and she sat up, feeling disorientated. Draco Malfoy was stood next to the sofa she had fallen asleep on, looking down on her.

"You idiot!" she groaned as the vivid images of the dream trickled from her mind. "Why did you have to wake me up! I could have found out what they were talking about, just two more seconds."

She buried her head in her hands as she tried to remember everything she had heard in her dream. It had felt so real.

Hermione expected a retort of some sort from him; at the very least an insult, but she got neither.

"Found out what?" he asked, his voice neutral.

She removed her head from her hands. "As if I would tell you," she spat, getting up. "Run out of nasty things to say this morning have we? Decided to acknowledge my presence today?

Draco moved across the room to pick up his cloak. "I have the unfortunate pleasure of having to deal with the fact that you exist every day, sadly."

"Really? So what was going on in the prefects meeting three days ago? You spoke over me every time I opened my mouth, and were completely dismissive of every suggestion I had, even though you knew what I was saying made sense. You acted as if I wasn't there, and completely humiliated me in front of the prefects."

"Fine." She said, crossing her arms over her chest when he remained silent. She growled at his ignorance. "You just had to wake me up, didn't you," she said more to herself than to him, bending down to pick up the cushions from the floor that must have fallen whilst she was asleep.

"I only did it," he said, having overheard, "because I thought you would have wanted to be woken up so that you would not miss breakfast or be late. I shall remember not to bother again though."

She watched him from the corner of the eye. Standing with his back to her, his loose blonde hair shining in the sunlight and his posture ramrod straight, Hermione was reminded strongly of his father from her dream.

"Oh," she managed to say eventually. She couldn't bring herself to say thank you however.

There was a sudden urge within her to ask him about Pansy Parkinson but she suppressed it. It was none of her business, she knew, yet at the same time it was; they were both bound to each other after all. It almost felt like betrayal when she should have felt relieved.

Feeling awkward being in the room with him on her own, Hermione picked herself up and headed to the bathroom. There would be no time to change if she were to make it down to breakfast in time, so she had to settle with just refreshing herself as best she could.

Ice cold water washed away the sleepy haziness from her skin and she brushed her teeth, the one thing she would never forget to do curtsey of her parents. Her hair looked dirty and unkempt, so she pulled it up into a bun off her face. She straightened her tie, and shook out her cloak, hating knowing that it was dirty against her skin. "It's your own fault," she said to her reflection.

Feeling reasonably satisfied, she left the bathroom and went to pick up her bag when she remembered that she had only managed to complete half of her homework essay the night before.

"Shit!"

Malfoy looked up startled as she rummaged through her bag, but she was too busy to notice. When she had finally found her essay, she grabbed her key and rushed down to the great hall ahead of him. It was half past eight, so she still had time to finish it off before ancient runes later that afternoon.

The smell of breakfast wafted up Hermione's nose as she made her way across to the Gryffindor table. Her stomach grumbled at the sight of food.

"Oh gosh, I am so hungry," she said as she plonked herself down on the bench next to Harry, feeling flush.

"Morning, 'Mione," Ron greeted over a mouthful of toast.

She reached for the cup Harry handed her and poured some fresh coffee into it. "Ugh, how many times do I have to ask you Ron not to call me that? It reminds me of my Aunt Alice. She thought it was endearing. It's not."

He grinned at her over the jug of coffee. "Sorry,_ Mione_" he said again, earning him a slap on the arm.

"Did you sleep okay?" Harry asked as she took out her quill and inkpot, smoothing the essay out in front of her.

"Not really," she said sipping her coffee. "Did you?"

Harry laughed. "Even Ron's snoring couldn't stop me from sleeping last night."

"Hey!" Ron interjected as he heaped French toast onto his plate. "I do not snore."

"Yeah, you do." The three looked up as Ginny hurried over to them, looking as if all of her Christmases had come at once. "Guess what?" she said excitedly, her eyes twinkling as she sat down.

Hermione had an inkling of what was to come, but decided to act as if she hadn't heard. "What?" she asked casually as she reached for a piece of toast.

Harry rolled his eyes. "If this is about Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson," he grumbled, "then we've already heard."

"I haven't heard," Hermione said, speaking up. "What about them?"

Ginny threw her hair over her shoulder, leaning in closer as if what she was about to her was a highly confidential secret. One that the whole school knew about. "They're officially going out again," she gushed as she glanced over at the Slytherin table. "Malfoy asked Pansy to meet him in the astronomy tower last night and told her that it had been a mistake for them to break up all those months ago when they were obviously such a good couple. He said he wanted to give it another go."

"You're serious?" Hermione asked incredulously. She wasn't sure whether to scream or hurl.

"Absolutely. Well, that's how she put it, but I think she's exaggerating slightly." She took a deep breath as she had been speaking rather fast. "Of course, the first thing Pansy did when she got back to her common room was run to Millicent Bulstrode and relayed the whole detailed episode. And you know what Millicent is like – any chance she gets to be the centre of attention she takes it.

Hermione often felt sorry for Millicent, but she was a Slytherin and a nasty one at that. Lavender and Parvati were always making snarky comments about her weight behind her

back, and she seemed to be the type who would do anything to be the centre of attention for a few moments.

"Millicent didn't waste one second in making sure that it was her spreading the news and dishing out the dirt to all who would listen. But we're all pretty sure Pansy planned it to happen like this. She wants the whole school to know that Draco Malfoy wanted her back."

The knife plunged into the butter with a bit more force than needed but Hermione kept her attention focused on Ginny as she spread her toast. "Who's 'we'?" she asked, her voice strained as she contemplated curses that she could use on the Head Boy.

The red heads eyes widened in shock as if she should have known. "Everyone Hermione, everyone is 'we'! It is all the school can talk about."

True to her word, the whole school was talking about it and it didn't take one with much intelligence to notice. Gossip was always rife at Hogwarts, and today it Pansy was the starring role. Heads were bowed together as frantic chatter was exchanged over breakfast, all debating what this latest relationship development meant. Girls were throwing looks over their shoulders at Pansy that were half admiring, yet half envious too.

Hermione strained her ears to pick up what she could, deliberately trying to avoid having to look over at the Slytherin table whilst everyone else was. She should have felt relieved that Malfoy was with Pansy; after all it might mean that this marriage between the two of them was just that, a marriage on paper and nothing else. But then why all the secrecy and trouble? Why her? The questions were mounting higher and higher, and she still had no more answers than before.

She was also finding it difficult to comprehend how her fellow students were acting towards two of the foulest people in the school who were more likely than not supported of dark magic. It was as if the very existence of it had been forgotten and no one seemed in a hurry to remember. None of it mattered, it was as if all anyone wanted at Hogwarts was to be like a student of any other normal school, to forget the horrors that existed outside the stone walls and just be kids whilst they still could. She should have been pleased at the thought, but she wasn't.

"I think it's ridiculous," Harry said loudly. "Has everyone forgotten what those two are," he said more quietly, and Hermione smiled at him. At least he hadn't changed. Her smile vanished though as she saw the look of anger that flashed across Ginny's face.

"I expected you to say something like that. So no one is allowed to have fun anymore; is that what you're saying? We're all supposed to mope around as if we have no choice?"

Harry was taken aback by her tone. "No," he said defensively.

Ginny was almost as fired up as the colour of her hair. "That is exactly what you're saying! You think," Ron slapped her on the arm and she lowered her voice, not aware that she had been shouting, "You think that just because _He's_ out there, we all have to be solemn and miserable every day and no one is allowed to just be themselves and be normal and try and have some fun."

Hermione dropped her toast on her plate, having yet to take a bite. The air between them all was sour and choking, with Ginny staring so obviously angrily at Harry it was as if she had forgotten there were other people in the room.

"So what if there is a war going on out there? I thought you of all people would rather that we all tried to get along and unite together. I thought you would prefer that there isn't a war going on in here as well as out there, but I guess I'm wrong."

"That's not true," Harry replied gruffly, his eyebrows knotting together.

Ginny looked appalled. "Yes it is, Harry, and you know it is. I'm leaving." She got up, her face still set like thunder. "I'll see you later," she said pointedly to Hermione and waved, heading down the table to sit with her friends.

Ron fidgeted uncomfortably. "I don't know what's got into her."

But that wasn't entirely true either, Hermione was pretty sure he knew what Ginny's rant was about just as she and Harry both knew. It had less to do with Draco and Pansy and everything to do with the fact that Harry was always pushing her away.

'It seems as if all we ever do it lie,' she mused to herself as she tugged at a lose strand of hair.

"Huh?" Harry wondered, looking up from the scrambled eggs on his plate that his fork had been messing with.

Hermione hadn't realised she'd spoken out loud. His eyes locked with hers for a moment, an unsaid question hanging between them but she shook her head. "I said it seems like a nice day outside." She cocked her head towards one of the giant windows overlooking the grounds. The sky was crystal blue and clear, one of the last days of summer. He followed her gaze, lost in his own thoughts.

There was another lie she'd managed to tell. They were spilling from her lips faster than answers to a test, and she found it far too easy.

A loud of shrill of laughter came from the Slytherin table and she made the mistake of looking up, feeling as if she had been punched in the stomach as she did so. They were sat together as usual surrounded by all of their cronies. One might have made the mistake of thinking that there was nothing out of the ordinary in the way they were acting. Hermione hadn't really expected Pansy to be sat in his lap or anything quite so cheesy, but the way everyone had been talking had her convinced she'd see more than what she was.

Yet there were subtle signs. Pansy seemed to be leaning closer to Malfoy more often, finding excuses to touch him, whispering in his ear. The grin plastered across her face said it all, she had claimed her prize.

At least Hermione still had her work to keep her occupied, which despite the taunting from her peers she always found solitude in. She'd been reading over what she'd already written when she felt her eyes drawn to her hands. She forced herself to look away quickly.

Hermione tried her best to ignore the ring on her finger, ashamed to stare at it and admire it's beauty, afraid that someone would see her looking and rattle out her big secret. It was better to play ignorance than to accept that it was there. It was still unnerving that she could see it when no-one else, bar those who knew about it, could. She was fearful of looking at it in case someone noticed.

By now breakfast was almost over and students were disappearing off to class. Lavender and Parvati had left the hall ten minutes ago, a hoard of girls trailing behind them as they snatched a few minutes of gossip and make up in the girls bathroom before first lesson, no doubt conferring over Pansy and Malfoy. It was an immense relief when Ginny left soon after them, Hermione had no wish to become involved with their gossiping, or to deal with the younger girl complaining about Harry again. She sided with her frustration with him, but at the same time she wondered why Ginny couldn't understand the position Harry was in and how difficult it was for him.

The boys stood, their plates empty and Hermione got up as well, staring at the forgotten piece of toast lying on her plate. Even the thought of food made her feel queasy.

"Do you think Professor Binns' lesson will be interesting today, perhaps?" she asked them as they started walking towards the doors.

"No," Ron chortled. "It will be as mind-numbingly dull as always. I'm surprised you even asked."

"I thought last weeks' lesson on the history of the house-elf revolution in 1569 was fascinating. It's really given me some good ideas for S.P.E.W."

Both boys groaned. "I thought you didn't have time for S.P.E.W anymore?" Harry said tentatively, knowing how close to her heart it was.

"Well I don't, not at the moment. But that doesn't mean I'm abandoning it," she grimaced. "It's not as if anyone else is concerned about it."

"Hermione, even the house-elves themselves are not interested in it. How many times do I have to tell you that they're happy as they are." Ron never understood her passion for their rights.

"And," Harry added as they descended down the stairs to the dungeons, "didn't Professor Binns say that the house-elf revolution of 1569 failed because the house-elves themselves didn't agree with what they were doing?"

"It only failed," she said more strongly this time, dodging a rat that darted past them, "because they were duped into thinking that by the Minister of Magic." She turned to Harry. "Since when did you start listening in History of Magic?"

He gave a shrug. "It was a one off. We can't all be as attentive as you."

"Oh, ha ha," she sang back.

Hermione had been dreading it all day. History of Magic with the Hufflepuff's had been a welcome distraction and she had managed to lose herself in her work as she jotted down roll and roll of notes. But Potions with the Slytherins was bound to be even harder than it usually was. The dungeons were dark and dreary with a nasty chill that always managed to seep through robes and cloaks no matter how thick. Snape rarely lit the torches that lined the corridor, preferring the idea of his students stumbling their way along in the hopes that one of them at least would trip up.

Inside his classroom was little better. Hermione, Harry and Ron took their usual seats at the front of the class as always.

Ron slumped over the desk and emitted a low groan. "I hate potions."

Hermione checked her watch. "Only one and a half hours to go," she comforted, patting his shoulder.

"Gee thanks. That makes me feel a lot better."

Snape was in a foul mood when he stormed into the classroom moments later, his face contorted with the nastiest look of disgust. He wasted no time launching into a lecture, drawling that he was disappointed of the quality of homework handed in the lesson before. When he obliviated the parchments with his wand in front of them without warning, not one voice dared to protest or complain. But every student was fuming at the idea they had to do the whole assignment again on top of their heavy workloads.

"Let that be a lesson to you all," he sneered, his lips curling into a mocking smile. Fourteen pairs of eyes glared back at him.

Snape pointed his wand at that blackboard behind him. "I want you to follow these instructions. You will each brew the Draught of the Living Dead and submit me a vial for testing at the end of the lesson."

Hermione relaxed; they'd brewed that potion several times over the last year and it was relatively uncomplicated.

"However," Snape continued, "you will find that the instructions on the board are not entirely correct." Ron reached for his copy of Advanced Potion-Making, earning a fierce glare from Snape. "Without referencing any other material bar that from your own brains, you will prepare the potion in one hour. Let us see who has been paying attention in my class. Although," he added as an afterthought, focusing his menacing glare on Ron, "I doubt a few of you would be better off adding ingredients ad initio rather than relying on your own knowledge, wouldn't you say Weasley?."

Ron turned a shade of beet red, more from anger than embarrassment. He was used to Snape's taunting.

"You may, for today only owing to the complexity of the potion, work in small groups." He paced the ground in front of the board, arms clasped behind his back as he took apparent interest in a jar of jellied frogs. "Begin."

There was rummaging as cauldrons were set up and ingredients gathered from the store cupboard. Hermione read over the instructions on the board carefully, already spotting two errors on the first line. She set Harry and Ron to work chopping ingredients as she stirred the potion carefully counter-clockwise as she puzzled over the fourth instruction.

"Oh." She said as she racked her brains, trying to remember what the page looked like in the text book. "Oh!"

Harry stopped chopping. "Is something wrong?"

"The fourth line," she said, cocking her head as she read it again. "I'm not sure if it's right or not. If I could just remember what the page looked like!" She gritted her teeth but it was no use.

"Crush the Sopophorous Beans with the flat side of a dagger and add, with juices, to cauldron when potion resembles a smooth, blackcurrant coloured consistency," Harry recited.

"It just doesn't sound right. I'm almost positive that you chop the beans, not crush them."

There was a loud cough from behind them and Hermione turned her head. Draco Malfoy was staring right at her. She raised an eyebrow.

"Hermione?"

"What?" she asked as she resumed stirring her potion.

"The potion is almost smooth – what should I do?" Ron looked down at the beans on the bench.

She frowned. "Um, chop the beans."

"Are you sure?" Harry inquired, looking between Hermione and the beans.

"Yes. Chop them."

Ron picked up his knife, still hesitant. "Are you absolutely-"

"Yes!" Hermione felt the burden of pressure of such a small, simple procedure on her shoulders as if it were a killer whale. It wasn't as if Harry or Ron had any idea.

The sound of the knife cutting through the beans filled her ears as all other noise dissolved away. There was a strange, mystifying calm that had swept over the students, almost as if the fumes from the potions had lulled them in to a dream like state.

"Ahem."

It was the third time he had made a false cough to try and get her attention. "What is your problem?" Hermione hissed under her breath as her cauldron bubbled and a blue steam rose up to the ceiling.

The class fell quiet. Even Snape, for the first time in history looked intrigued, though he did not stop his pacing.

"I think you're wrong, Granger." All heads turned instantly as Malfoy spoke up from the back of the room where he was seated, legs casually propped up on the chair in front of him as he lazily stirred his own potion. Everyone else had stopped working and the potions were left to bubble away on their own.

It wasn't everyday that Hermione Granger was challenged, and it wasn't every day that it happened during a potions lesson when Severus Snape was still in the room, more shocking still allowing it. Hardly surprising though, considering Snape favoured Malfoy over all others.

Hermione scowled but refused to give him the satisfaction of looking over at him. She stirred her potion vigourously, "And why do you think that?" she shot back over her shoulder, her hand still stirring her potion as she tipped in the chopped beans she had snatched from Ron.

"Because."

_Because? What did he mean, because? _She badly wanted to leave it there, to leave him hanging. But a restraint in her snapped and all of her self control flooded away.

She dropped the ladle."What do you mean, because?" she demanded, spinning around.

"I mean," he began as he leant forward in his seat, "because."

The silence in the room was deafening.

"Do you care to explain or not?"

Draco let out a short laugh. "Of course I do, because I'm right." His eyes caught hers and she couldn't look away. "If you crush the bean, more juice will be released than if it were chopped. The juice contains the active ingredient Sopophorotein, which is the compound responsible for tricking the body into producing melatonin. Melatonin is the hormone that promotes sleep therefore to correctly produce the potion you need to release the correct amount of juice from the bean, therefore crushing it is correct."

He broke their gaze and focused on his own potion, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the class that had been watching him. They resumed their work immediately, whispering quietly to each other but no longer about their potions. Snape was smiling as he came over to inspect their potion, the glee on his face a more horrid sight than a scowl.

Hermione felt her cheeks burn. She turned abruptly, causing the ladle to clatter to the floor so that she had to bend down to pick it up. It only further added to her humiliation of being beaten by a cocky arrogant bastard. She felt Harry and Ron carry on working next to her, handing her the rest of the ingredients but she couldn't get the image of Draco Malfoy smirking out of the back of her mind. He had just proven to the whole class that he knew more than she did about potions when he barely even tried. He knew more than she, the know-it-all bookworm!

When Snape called "time's up" at the end of the lesson, Hermione was more than relieved. She needed to get as far away from Malfoy as physically possible, and then when she'd calmed down she was going to find a way to dissolve her marriage to him and remove the damned ring that had resisted all other attempts so far, from slicking her finger with butter to trying to cut it off with Hagrid's finest clippers.

"Granger, Malfoy." Snape called out from behind his desk as the others began to file out of the class. "A word?"

They waited until everyone had gone.

He looked up at them. "I think it's time that we talked about your situation," he said, in possibly the softest voice Hermione had ever heard him use.

Of course she would be the one to jump the gun. "What do you mean?" she questioned.

"What I _mean,_ Miss Granger," he drawled, his lips curled upwards in a devilish smirk and all hints of sincerity disappeared from his voice, "or should I say Mrs Malfoy; is that I have something to discuss with you both, concerning your marriage."

"It's _Miss Granger_," Hermione replied tersely, but it fell on deaf ears.

~o~


	8. Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Still.**

**Chapter 7**

**It's Miss Granger**

Draco tried to hold the laugh at the back of his throat, but for once his control failed him. The look on Hermione Granger's face was priceless, and he wanted to commit it to memory. She looked as if she had swallowed a fly, a mix of confusion and excitement in one hideous facial expression. He couldn't help himself.

A glare from Snape made him cough and the laughter died, but the amusement in his eyes did not. "What's the matter Granger, cat got your tongue?"

She stepped forward, almost tripping over her own feet. "No." She replied meekly, ignoring him. Her eyes were focused on Snape. "You know?"

He didn't miss a heartbeat in replying. "Yes." She thought she detected a tinge of sadness in his voice, but the expression on his face suggested evidently that she was wrong.

"Oh."

There was a stony silence as she took a moment to accept the fact that someone else knew Draco rolled his eyes, leaning back against the desk behind him.

"How do you know?"

"Because I am the one who informed Dumbledore of the situation."

Hermione barely blinked. "What situation?"

Snape got up from his seat and ignored her question. "May I see the rings?"

Instinctively she stepped back, clasping her hands behind her back. "What situation?"

There was silence in the room again. No one wanted to break it.

Hermione kept her eyes fixed on Snape. Towering over her, he was imposing enough already without the sallow skin and lank, greasy hair. It was the look in his eyes that frightened her most. A look she didn't recognise.

She glanced quickly at Malfoy as her heart started to race. His sneer was gone, his face impassive. He was staring straight ahead, his arms folded tightly against his chest as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening. As if he were bored by it all.

"Professor," she pleaded, "what situation-"

"-Ring first, Mrs-"

"It's Miss Granger," she shot back before he could say Mrs Malfoy again. That was not, no matter what anyone said, her name.

He sighed impatiently and without waiting grabbed her left hand and held it tightly. As soon as his cold skin came in to contact with her own she felt a shiver of fear run down her spine, but his grip was strong and there was no way she could get out of it. "Do not forget who you are talking to, Miss Granger," Snape hissed as his eyes focused on the ring.

The examination was so brief it was over in seconds. Whatever he had been looking for he seemed to have found. Satisfied he nodded his head once, dropping her hand as if it were a piece of hot coal as soon as he'd finished.

"Well," he summised after inspecting the ring on Draco's finger as well, "this is certainly is a situation, isn't it." He seated himself behind his desk, pulling a draw open, "I need you both to take a single 25 ml measure of this potion once a day, everyday, if the spell is to remain intact. Failure to do so will put you both in danger."

He removed two sealed vials and set them on the desk. Each contained a brightly purple coloured liquid.

Questions of why were springing up in her head faster than she could think them through properly, but reason blocked her hopes from rising. "You're not going to tell us anything, are you?" Hermione accused as Malfoy took one of the vials from the desk.

"Oh Granger, do you have argue," Malfoy growled as he turned to face her. His eyes glittered dangerously and he was fast losing his cool. "Can't you just accept the fact that you're not going to be told what's going on. Get over it and stop acting like a spoiler brat."

Hermione had had enough. She couldn't just stand there with her most despised teacher and an insufferable Malfoy who seemed all too happy to do as he was told. "Obviously I'm not going to get any answers," she said bitterly. She grabbed the remaining vial from the desk and stormed out of the room.

Her shoes clicked loudly on the stone as she ascended the steps to the entrance hall. So Snape knew about their marriage too? Well that was just perfect. Hermione wondered how many more teachers knew about her predicament, desperately hoping that the answer was none. Why could they not understand her? Did they think she enjoyed the mystery of not knowing why she was married to the enemy?

The small vial of potion sloshed in her left hand and she instinctively closed her hand around it, trying to conceal it. Checking her watch, she considered trying to find Harry and Ron, but then thought against it. She stood in the entrance hall for a moment, deciding what to do. There was only half an hour until the start of dinner, and she didn't feel like sitting in the library. It was still light outside, and the idea of fresh air appealed to her after nearly two hours down in the dungeons.

Sounds of laughed echoed across from the Quidditch pitch and she spotted Harry's black messy hair as he zoomed above the pitch, answering her unasked question of what Harry and Ron were up to. She'd forgotten all about Quidditch practice. The team had their first match against Hufflepuff on Saturday. At least that was something to look forward to.

She settled under a tree next to the lake, pulling the vial out from up her sleeve. It was the most intense purple colour she had ever seen, beautiful almost as the sunlight caught it. She twirled the glass between her fingers thoughtfully. Snape said nothing about the nature of the

spell, or why the potion was needed to make it work, but Hermione had already decided that was going to try and figure it out herself.

"What's that?"

Hermione jumped and let out a yelp as Harry appeared suddenly from behind a tree, the vial almost slipping through her fingers. "Jesus, Harry. You scared me half to death!" she stammered when she found her voice.

"Sorry," he apologised, giving her a lopsided smile as he sat down next to her. "I thought you heard me coming. I snapped loads of twigs coming down here. What's that?" he asked again, nodding his head towards the purple potion.

She looked down at the vial in her hands, then quickly back at him. "Extra credit," she lied. "Snape thought I might enjoy the challenge of figuring out what this potion is, seeing as I like to speak up so much in class with my opinions. I came down here to try and think."

"Is that why he wanted to speak with you and Malfoy?" Harry inquired, picking up a stone from the ground and twiddling it in his hands.

Hermione nodded.

"What a jerk." He threw the stone and it landed with a plop in the lake. "He has no right to give you any more work when you've got enough on your plate."

Feeling horrible for having to lie about it, she dropped the vial into her pocket. "I don't think Professor Snape sees it that way. He doesn't care how big my caseload is, he just wants to make me miserable. How was practice?" she asked changing subject, watching him carefully as he picked up another stone off the ground.

He took a deep breath. "It was good," he said slowly as another stone landed in the lake.

Hermione waited patiently for him to elaborate. Something was obviously bothering him.

"The teams shaping up better than I thought we would. Ron and Ginny are both excellent as usual. The new chaser I told you about-"

"Michael Dewington?"

"Yeah, him. He's almost as good as Katie was and he's only in his third year, I think he's perfect for the position. And Jimmy and Ritchie have improved with the bludgers too. I think we're in with a strong chance to keep hold of the cup this year."

"Well, that's good right?"

He rested his hands on his knees. "Yeah, of course it is."

"But?" she prodded gently. She knew Harry well enough when there was something he needed to get off his chest.

He turned to look at her and shook his head. "But nothing. I'm just a bit distracted at the moment, that's all." He sighed, staring out to the lake for a long moment. When I'm up there on my broom, whether we're having a team practice or playing a match, it doesn't matter which, I feel like I can forget about everything that's going on in the real world and just play Quidditch because for a few minutes that all that matters to me is the game. It's like all of this," he emphasised with his hands, "doesn't exist." He paused. "Today was different though. It felt like I was in the game, but it wasn't the same. I couldn't fully concentrate on what wasn't going on, not like I usually do. It didn't all disappear from my mind, not even for a second. It scared me."

Hermione chewed on her lip. There was nothing she could really say to that. No one truly knew what it was like for him, to always have that burden of his shoulders, to constantly have to think about Voldemort.

"Harry," she said softly as she reached out and grasped his hand with hers, "it's going to be okay."

"You don't know that, Hermione."

"Yes I do," she stated firmly. "I do know that. I have to hope that everything will work out okay because what's the point of thinking that it won't? It just makes you miserable. I believe that you, that we, can defeat Voldemort. Please don't give up on us Harry."

He squeezed her hand. "I'm not giving up on anyone."

She smiled wryly. "That's not exactly what I meant."

"I know," he quipped. "We have to enjoy what time we have here, make the most of what we've got..."

"...no matter how hard or wrong it feels," she finished for him. "Why shouldn't we have fun? If it all ends tomorrow I'd rather enjoy today than worry about it. We can't do anything right now, we have to wait. I know it's hard for you, I honestly do, but until the time comes, try and not think about it too much. I know you will," she added as an afterthought, "but at least try."

"You're right," he said eventually.

A blissful silence fell over them as they sat and watched the sun begin to set in the sky. "Don't you think you should listen to your own advice?" Harry said as he stood up, offering his hand to her.

She stared at him funnily for a moment, not saying anything.

"I'm not an idiot Hermione. I may have been more distracted recently, but that doesn't mean I can't tell when something's going on with one my best friends." He pulled her to her feet, his green eyes burning into her brown ones. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing's going on with me," she replied as she straightened out her cloak, hoping she sounded honest. "I'm just worried about you."

"You're not telling me the truth. I know when you're lying." His concern stabbed her like a knife would.

Hermione started to walk back up to the castle, guilt flooding her as she tried to think of something to say. She couldn't tell him. She'd promised Dumbledore; keeping the marriage a secret was obviously very important. But if he kept asking her, she knew she'd crack.

He ran to catch up with her, grabbing her arm before she could get away.

"Harry," she pleaded, opening her mouth to say something else, shutting it just as quickly.

"Look, if you don't want to tell me what's bothering you, I'm not going to try forcing you too," he said diplomatically. "But don't think that I'm stupid. You're not eating properly, you look tired all the time and you haven't argued with Ron once since we've been back at school. That's not like you. I know you have a lot of pressure right now being Head Girl, but don't think you have to hide it from us. You don't have to pretend to be strong all the time. You're only human."

Hermione wasn't sure what to say, but she couldn't bear the thought that he was worrying over her when she couldn't tell him why.

She swallowed. "Harry, you have to trust me, there's nothing wrong. I'm stressed is all. Being Head Girl is harder than I thought it would be, and it doesn't help that Malfoy is Head Boy. It's just stress," she reiterated, hoping he believed her.

He didn't look convinced. "Has Malfoy done anything to you? Worse than usual?" he asked seriously.

She groaned inwardly, not wanting to talk or think about him at all. "No, he hasn't. He acts like I don't exist most of the time and I'm not complaining about that, it's better than being insulted and called mudblood all the time."

"Promise me if he does anything to upset you, anything at all, that you'll tell me or Ron about it. I don't like that you have to work with that son of a bitch."

_I shouldn't have mentioned Malfoy,_ she thought glumly. Her stomach churned every time another person mentioned his name. The only response she could give was a reluctant nod of the head. Her lies were beginning to stack up.

"Let's talk about something else," she suggested as they meandered up the path. "Preferably something not related to Malfoy or Voldemort. We're supposed to be focussing on the good things in our lives right now, remember."

"As long as we don't have to talk about school work," Harry joked. "I know how much you like discussing that subject. Ow," he said rubbing the spot on his arm where she had just slapped him lightly.

"Don't even insult me with a 'that hurt' comment. I barely touched you."

They both laughed. Harry rested a friendly arm around her shoulders, his other hand in his pocket. "I'm thinking we should go and visit Hagrid after dinner. Now that we don't have Care of Magical Creatures anymore, we hardly see him. I think he misses the company."

"You're right," Hermione agreed as they climbed the steps to the entrance of the castle. "I feel terrible that we haven't made time for him yet. I have a tin of biscuits my mum gave me before I came back to school that we can give to him, I think he'll like them."

"And we get to keep our teeth if we eat those instead of Hagrid's cooking. Good thinking Hermione."

She beamed, not believing how happy she felt now in Harry's presence compared to how awful she felt earlier. There was hope that things could still be normal, and it wasn't as hard as she made it. _I'm not lying, I just have a secret I can't share, _she thought to herself. As long as she didn't forget it was a secret, she wouldn't feel bad for lying. It wasn't as if she had much choice.

"Come on," Hermione said eagerly, "let's find Ron and go have dinner. I'm ravenous."

~o~


	9. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer: I asked for the rights to Harry Potter for Christmas, but Santa didn't give them to me.**

**Chapter Eight**

**The Reveal**

He liked to kid himself that he couldn't understand why he had so easily offered to take part in Dumbledore's elaborate plot that night seemingly so long ago. He liked to pretend that it had been difficult, that the decision had nearly destroyed him, and he would force himself to forget that in reality it had been a no-brainer, it had been easy, because it really shouldn't have been.

The marriage itself didn't bother him. Not really. Not in the way it probably should. And it most definitely should have bothered him; she was the stuck-up, goody-too-shoes Mudblood best friend of the person he had been taught all of his life to hate most in the world. Why would he do anything to help her, to protect her? His blood should have been boiling, his head spinning with anger and frustration. But for some reason, it wasn't.

Sometimes, when you're offered a way out, you'll do anything. He was living proof of that fact.

He didn't want to be told what to do. He didn't want to fight in a war on a side that he did not choose. He didn't want to lose. He wanted choices, options, freedom.

Not blind servitude.

And so, when Dumbledore had come to the manner that night and told him he could help them, he offered himself freely knowing full well the consequences of what he was getting himself into, because his family meant more to him than any Dark Lord or any mudblood ever would. His parents may not have been the most affectionate, or the most compassionate, or the most honourable, but they were still his parents and that counted for more than anything.

There was still time to put things right, to salvage something for themselves. Their roads didn't have to end in death.

Marrying Granger, well that had been enough of a motive.

She was infuriating him, more so than usual recently. The way she acted, the way she spoke. All of it. It wasn't because of the marriage, it was because of her. Just last night she had stormed through the common room with her nose stuck up in the air and dropped an impossibly large pile of books down the stairs. She might as well have destroyed his Firebolt right there in front of him if his reaction was anything to go by.

"You stupid bitch!" he had shouted, jumping up from where he sat in front of the fire. "I'm trying to concentrate!"

"Sorry," she muttered, not giving him the satisfaction of looking at him as she quickly gathered up the fallen books so she couldn't see the fury scrawled across his face. He was always furious. She slammed one book on top of the other, the very sound making the thought of slapping her senseless more appealing each time.

"Sorry? You're not sorry. If you were you'd be more careful. I've never met anyone so uncoordinated. Stupid Mud-."

She interrupted before he could finish, wanting to avoid a confrontation if at all possible. "Maybe if you stopped shouting at me-"

Draco gritted his teeth as she stacked her books one on top of the other, slamming each one down before trying to pick them up again. "Don't even attempt to tell me what and what not to do, Granger."

She stopped at the top of the stairs, books firmly in place this time when he'd sneered her name in that cold, malicious voice that he saved just for her. "Oh whatever, Malfoy," she said, turning to look back down at him. "Have a go, again. You're so angry at me that anything will set you off these days. It doesn't matter what I do. Heaven forbid if I had been too quiet walking through."

"My being angry with you is no different from normal, Granger," he replied tersely, falling back into his seat, thankful that looking at his work saved him from looking at her. He picked up his quill and started writing again, ignoring the sound of her huffed breathing.

His heart thumped in his chest as he focused on the words on the parchment in front of him, on the sound of the crackling fire. There was adrenaline coursing through his veins with enough power that he felt that his skin would be torn apart. He wanted to fight; the urge was desperate and he felt his fists clench as the thought of hurting her clouded his mind. Somehow, he managed to hold himself back.

"You're much worse now," she whispered as she pushed the heavy oak door open.

"I wonder why that is," he said through thin lips as her door slammed shut behind her. He pushed his work aside angrily and grabbed his wand. His concentration was completely destroyed now, thanks to her, and he didn't want to be within one hundred miles of where she was.

It took nearly two hours of fighting humanoid apparations conjoured by his wand in the Room of Requirement before he felt safe enough to leave and not start upon the first person he saw in the corridor, but although his anger was in check it had not disappeared. He hadn't returned to the Common Room they shared, instead spending the night sleeping on one of the armchairs in the Slytherin Common Room.

"You know, people are going to start talking soon if you keep sleeping here."

Draco woke with a jolt to find Blaise Zabini lounging on the opposite sofa, playing with a charmed snitch. His dark skin let off little glow in the dim light, and his eyes looked playful under his mop of jet black hair.

"What time is it?" Draco asked wearily, stretching out his cold and aching muscles.

"Quarter to five," Blaise replied, grinning widely.

Draco didn't find it so funny, and turned in the chair and closed his eyes, attempting to go back to sleep. Blaise didn't seem to get the idea that he wasn't in the mood for talking though.

"It is a little strange, I'll admit. You have this cushy grand bed in a room all to yourself upstairs and yet for the third night this week I've found you asleep in here," Blaise muttered as he let the snitch go and caught it again easily, a bored expression forming on his face as he glanced around the dungeon. "I understand that you must miss us mate, but seriously?"

"I find it odd that you care to interrogate me about this Zabini, at such a ridiculous hour. Ask me at seven."

Zabini shook his head. "Now is fine, actually. I'm quite awake."

"Evidently." Draco sat up and opened his eyes. "Actually, why are you up already?" he asked curiously, turning to watch the only other occupant of the room.

His closest friend let a satisfied smile stretch out across his face and raised an eyebrow. "Scratch that," Draco said quickly as resolution dawned on him, "I don't want to know what her name is."

"Your loss, I was going to recommend her to you actually, but I won't bother if you're not interested. Honestly though, why are you sleeping here? And don't say it's because you really do miss the dungeons, because if I was given half a chance I would trade places with you in an instant for my own room. Only a fool like you wouldn't appreciate what you've been given."

Draco sighed, looking down at the hard stone floor that he definitely did not miss under any circumstances. "It's Granger," he said eventually.

Blaise stared at him for a moment. "The Mudblood? You're hiding down here because of her?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes."

He couldn't suppress the laughter. "Please tell me you're joking, because that is truly ludicrous. Don't let anyone else know that's why you've been hanging around here, you'd never live it down."

"Thanks so much for your support," Draco replied bitterly as he rubbed his tired eyes. "But unfortunately yes, it's because of her." He let out a breath of frustration as his thoughts drifted to her, the anger quickly returning. "I can't bear to be around her, to be in the same place as her. The very idea makes me want to hit her or curse her into oblivion."

He stood and walked over to the fire, throwing a couple more logs on top of the dwindling flame, watching it as it danced for a moment. The feeling of warmth on his front contrasted sharply with the cold on his back; he liked the way it felt different.

"Well, usually I would say that that is completely understandable."

"Usually?" Draco said confusedly, eyes still focused on the fire.

The snitch flew up from Blaise's relaxed grasp and was snatched back again quickly. "So the Head Girl is bothering you. She is after all the annoying, know-it-all Granger and you've despised her since first year so that I get. I can imagine that living in such close quarters to her must be driving your pureblooded, supreme self slightly mad, but you've dealt with much worse."

"Since when did you become leader of the Mudblood fan group?"

"I'm not, thankfully. What I'm trying to say is that she has been a thorn in your side for six years now. What exactly is she doing differently that it forces you to sleep here rather than in your own bed?"

Draco sighed, resting his hands on top of the fireplace. "That's just it, I don't know."

It was so evidently a lie that all Blaise could do was sit there in silence and stare at the back of his friend.

"We're good friends you and I, aren't we?" Draco asked casually, his eyes still on the flames.

Blaise cleared his throat. "Of course we are," he replied, a questioning tone in his voice.

"And I can trust you."

There was no hesitation. "With your life, as I would you with mine."

That satisfied Draco. "Oh sod it then," he said firmly, turning around and looking at his closest companion. "I married Granger to save her life."

It didn't seem to be such a big deal when he said it like that.

Blaise didn't quite see it that way. "You what?!" he said rather loudly as he sat upright with a jerk. The snitch escaped from his hands and he made no effort to retrieve it, leaving it to flutter above his head. At any other time, Draco would have mocked the look of disbelief that Blaise was giving him.

"You heard me. Don't make me say it again."

The shock disappeared from Blaise's face in an instant and he quickly regained his composure. He reached for his wand inside his pocket and muttered as many silencing spells on them as he could remember, as quickly as he could remember. "Are you completely fucking crazy? Do you have any idea how stupid it is to say something like that without taking precautions? Anyone could be listening; foolish! Completely foolish."

Draco didn't seem to care much. He stared silently at his friend, his eyes betraying how lost he felt.

Blaise softened a little when he saw the strain on the other mans features, a look so alien and one he had only seen once before, when they had been much younger. It made him uneasy. They'd been through a lot, both together and separately, yet equally torturous. He knew all too well the pressures of belonging to a family that supported 'the dark side', with no options or choices only unrelenting service and devotion as an offering. Quite simply, it was awful and it was hard, and they could not complain or speak up. If they did, the consequences were devastating.

"That bad, huh?" he said eventually.

The blonde shook his head. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone. You have to keep this to yourself."

"Understood. Who else knows?"

"My parents, obviously. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape..." Blaise coughed to cover his smirk. "The minister that oversaw the service. And you." He added as an afterthought.

Blaise whistled. "Geez. Bloody hell mate, nothing is ever simple with you is it?" Draco smiled at that as he moved to sit back down wearily on the chair he had fallen asleep on earlier, rubbing the back of his head wearily. "Now I can see why you don't want to be anywhere near her."

"Aren't you going to ask why I did it?"

"Well, I assumed you would tell me. No one drops a bombshell like that without explaining the reason as to why. It had better be good, that's all I can say. You don't even like Granger."

"True. And nothing has changed with regards to that, I can assure you." He clasped his pale hands together in his lap and stared down at them, his eyes resting on the ring. "Remember I told you months ago that my parents wanted out of _his_ service?"

Blaise nodded.

"Well, it all started when Snape became involved in a plot the Dark Lord is developing. He's building some sort of weapon, one that uses a wizard or witches power to create a magical force that heightens his own strength. Apparently, he's tried to develop something like this before but never succeeded. For some reason, this time he'sfound a way to do it." He took a deep breath. "He's adamant on who he'll use."

"Granger?"

Draco nodded. "It makes sense; he can kill two birds with one stone by using her."

"Snape is certain about this?"

"Absolutely positive. He's been right before, hasn't he?"

"And wrong," Blaise added, shifting slightly under the intensity of what they were discussing. He wasn't ashamed to say that such talk frightened him. He'd seen many terrible things.

"He's sure."

"Okay. Then what happened?"

Draco swallowed, as memories of that night came back to him. "Snape informed Dumbledore immediately of what he knew. They waited a while, Snape wanted to make certain that such a weapon was under construction. When he discovered it was, well, Dumbledore showed up at our house quite unexpectedly one night soon after and that was that. My father obviously refused to see him, but my mother wasn't so abject to shame. I've known for a long time that they wanted nothing more to do with this war, and if there's any hope for coming out of this alive, it involves Dumbledore. Can you imagine though, the embarrassment my father feels?"

It felt so easy to talk about it, and once he started Draco couldn't stop. "It's not that they've changed their opinions necessarily, far from it. They are just tired of being pawns in someone else's game. My family had a reputation before _him_, one that stood alone and by itself. Now look at what it has been reduced too; petty followers that _he _would turn on in an instant. That's not for us."

They shared a look of mutual understanding. Blaise cleared his throat. "So marrying Granger is what, you're bargaining chip? Proof that you're serious about changing sides?"

"Not quite. Dumbledore knows that there is a strong possibility that he can't protect Granger enough to stop him getting her, and he's afraid that if he does get her and use her it will destroy Potter. So, he asked me if I knew of Cruor vitualamenatus, and that was that."

Blaise's eyes widened. As soon as Draco had mentioned it everything fell into place. "You bound your blood to hers to protect her?" he whispered incredulously when he found his voice.

"Yes."

"But that means..."

Draco looked away. "I know what it means. I knew when I agreed, and I know it now. There's no need to say it."

"And you did it anyway, even though you can't stand her? Draco, that's complete bollocks. Why on earth did you say yes? That's too much to ask of anyone."

"Dumbledore only mentioned it as a suggestion; I offered to do it freely. I couldn't think of anything else that would work. It's not about her. It's about my family. This ensures him that we mean what we say when we want out. And if it means my mother survives this, because of this sacrifice I have made, then that's enough for me."

"If _he _ever found out-"

Draco didn't let him finish. "He won't."

"It might not even work. Protecting someone with blood, that's tricky magic. Unreliable."

"Dumbledore thought it was worth a shot."

A clock chimed someplace in the castle, reminding both of them of where they were. Blaise leant back on the sofa, trying to process all of the information he had gleaned in the last quarter of an hour. It was far more than he expected.

"Wow. I do not envy you in the slightest. I take back what I said earlier about trading places." He took a deep breath. "You really are in the thick of it aren't you. I didn't think Dumbledore would support the use of such ancient magic."

"He'd do anything to protect the Golden Trio." There was most certainly bitterness in those words.

"But what about you? Blood sacrifices only work one way. And if Dumbledore is so convinced that _he'll_ get to her...he's basically handed you a death sentence."

"I know all of this Blaise."

"And she has no idea?" It wasn't so much a question as a statement of fact.

Draco looked away, shaking his head. "What would knowing do for her? I would have done this for anyone if he'd asked me, the fact that it's her is irrelevant."

They sat in silence for a long time after that. Blaise resumed playing with his snitch, but he paid it little attention. His mind was spinning, and he was trying desperately to understand what his friend had done.

"I shouldn't have told you," Draco said eventually, his voice low.

Blaise regarded him for a moment, choosing carefully what he would say. "No, maybe you shouldn't have, but I'm glad you have all the same. I guess I can see now why you don't want to be near her. To do something for someone like her, and have to put up with them and all of their vices when they have no idea what you have sacrificed would drive me nuts. I can't believe you've lasted so long. Even so mate, you can't keep sleeping down here. No one has noticed yet to my knowledge, but if they did they would know something is up. And he has spies everywhere, be certain of that."

Draco stifled a yawn. "I know. I'll just have to bear it. I've dealt with worse." He stood abruptly. "I'm going to go flying for a bit, and clear my head." The toll of sharing so much and so openly had exhausted him.

Blaise stood too. "You have my word that I will keep this completely to myself." He reached for his wand again, and held it out towards Draco, who reached for his own. "On my life," he added, as the tips of the wands came into contact. A spark of magic spread between them, and Draco nodded his appreciation as the pact became official.

"We'll talk later," he promised, sheathing his wand in his cloak.

"Do you regret it?" Blaise called out after him, almost reluctant in asking.

Draco hesistated a moment, thinking of an answer. He was too ashamed to say yes, and so said nothing. And then he was gone.

~o~


	10. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter still does not belong to me.**

**Chapter Nine**

**Just a Little Bit Confused**

They didn't fit together. At all.

Hermione had heard a lot about marriage in her life. Specifically, she had been to a fair number of weddings, and watched far more on television during the summer holidays. She'd read about countless more. In each and every case, be it her cousin Alice's country estate affair three summers ago, or some exotic elopement in a cheesy romantic film, the husband and wife always looked right together. They melded. Separately and together. Even if just for a moment. They fit.

And the wedding was always, always romantic.

Hermione had never given much thought to what her wedding would be like. She hadn't even been sure if she would even get married. But that was in the past now, because she was.

She didn't want to dwell on it. She tried her very best to forget it. But whenever she managed such a feat, the incessant ring that was heavy against a finger on her left hand made its presence felt the way a person felt if they were hit by a bludger at 100mph. It knocked the wind right out of her and she couldn't breathe but she could think. Oh, she could think all right.

All she would think about would be him.

Blonde hair. Practically platinum. Messier but just as long as it had always been only not slicked back the way it was in the past. Steely grey eyes that had easily seen many terrible things, things that she could only imagine but thought of all the same, things that made them cold. He was tall and had enough arrogance about him that a significant proportion of the female population of Hogwarts thought him annoyingly attractive, stupidly in Hermione's eyes. She certainly would not admit to it. What were looks anyway? If you went by him, they were most definitely not a judge of character.

She was going to try and be normal. It was a Saturday morning, and as it happened, the first Hogsmeade weekend of the school year. Naturally everyone in third year and above was excited to be escaping the castle grounds for a day and so Hermione had promised herself that she would make an effort to have some fun with her friends. She also promised herself to try and not be moody and depressive because she had been coerced into marrying a ferret. Because she was sure she was becoming worse with each passing day and she didn't want to burden her friends anymore with her issues, particularly when she was not at a liberty to discuss those issues, and most importantly, when she still wasn't quite sure what they were.

She had approached the problem of dealing with this marriage in numerous, logical ways. She figured if she could just find out why, then it would make dealing with it much easier. And if that were too happen, she would be back to normal in no time.

First, she had spent every waking moment that wasn't filled with schoolwork or heads duties searching for the identity of the mystery potion that Snape had given both Malfoy and her a week ago to drink daily. She poured over books for hours in the library, and on the rare occasion she had official access to the restricted section she searched there too, but it had been a fruitless search. There was little on Wizarding marriages, both modern and ancient in any text she came across, and any mention that she did manage to find was vague, and none whatsoever mentioned marriage spells that required a potion to work or magic rings appearing that could not come off. Seeing as she had no magical parents to ask, and she was adamant that she would not approach any of the Weasleys, it seemed as if she had reached a dead end on that front. Hermione could hardly bring herself to accept that the library and her precious books had failed her when she needed them most, but she had too this time.

She had toyed often with the idea of trying to identify the potion experimentally, but as she was dutifully taking the prescribed amount daily she had little with which to experiment on, and as tempting as it was to skip a dose, such an action may have severe consequences and she really didn't want to find out what they were. Of course, it was highly unlikely that she would be able to figure out what the potion was with only one dose to work on, and as she assumed that it was far more complex than anything she had ever encountered before, well, it threw that idea far out of the water.

Hermione had considered going to Dumbledore again, but she couldn't bring herself too. He had already refused to give her reasons once, and despite wholeheartedly not agreeing with him, she knew that any more pleas she gave him would not bring him to change his mind. That, and the hurt of having something so important kept from her, when it concerned her so personally, well that was trying her trust enough. And she still had a little faith left in Dumbledore yet, and she wanted to keep it if it were at all possible, which meant keeping her distance.

The result of which left her empty handed and with one final option: Draco Malfoy himself. Considering the way he looked at her these days, she was willing to ignore that possibility entirely.

~o~

"Care for a stroll?"

Hermione looked up from the sweets she had been staring at for the last five minutes into Ron's comforting face. "Sure," she replied, glancing around Honeydukes for Harry and Ginny, trying to spot them in the shop bursting with students.

"They went to Zonko's five minutes ago," Ron offered, noticing her searching for them. He started to make his way through the crowd of students eagerly stocking up on sweets, reaching for her hand and holding it tightly so that they stayed together as he pulled her through. "They said they would meet us in the Three Broomsticks in twenty minutes for a drink."

The weather was abysmal, even for October. The temperature had dropped sharply overnight and heavy rain had been pelting down from the sky since dawn. "Maybe a walk outside isn't such a good idea," Ron said to her once they reached the door, looking out to the street bathed in a dull grey from the raging storm overhead.

But Hermione was on optimistic form today, and would be damned if she let the weather keep her inside. She didn't even want to buy anything in Honeydukes, she had just been browsing for lack of something better to do. "Oh come on, it's not that bad," she said, dropping Ron's hand and pulling the hood of her cloak up over her head. Wand at the ready, she recanted a drying spell and pointed her wand at her face before doing the same to Ron, smiling when it was done. "We can use magic after all."

Ron looked at her seriously for a moment. "It's good to see you smile."

That feeling surfaced in her stomach again, residual anger against the way she had been acting recently. The ring she so often ignored glinted on her finger menacingly. She pretended she hadn't heard what he said. "What was that?" she called back to him as she pushed the door open and stepped out into the howling storm, shoving her ring-laden hand firmly into her pocket so she wouldn't have to look at it.

The silence of the cobbled street, save for the pounding of rain, was soothing after the madness of Honeydukes. Hermione breathed in the smell of fresh air, enjoying the way the wind nipped at her cheeks, turning them pink she imagined. Rain water was repelled off her face by the spell she had cast, leaving a slight tickling sensation that she soon forgot all about.

"Where did you want to go?" she asked as they started walking along the sparsely populated high street.

Ron matched her pace easily."Oh, no where in particular. You just looked a little bored in Honeydukes so I thought I would intervene and bring you out here. Not that it's much better," he added, noting the weather.

She nodded gratefully, and yet felt utterly awful. Was that how she was all the time now, was that how they saw her, bored and completely uninterested?

They walked in a companiable silence for a while as their feet carried them away from the village centre out past the rows of perfectly uneven houses. Ron nodded hello to peers that he knew that passed them by, while Hermione kept her eyes glued to her feet.

_You have to stop this now,_ she told herself angrily. _You are going to be normal and happy for Ron's sake. _

"What do you think about Harry and Ginny?" he asked, stopping suddenly and looking utterly uncomfortable standing there dripping in the rain.

Hermione stopped beside him, taking the opportunity to adjust her cloak around her. "Harry and Ginny?" she asked, uncertain about what he was talking about.

"Yeah, what do you think...about– _them,_ you know? Together?_" _he clarified, looking back at her helplessly.

"Oh," she said as she realised what he meant, a knowing smile creeping on her face. "Them together you mean, as in a couple."

He nodded.

It was funny the way he looked so flustered. "Why? Has something happened?" She asked, laughing slightly. She had been so preoccupied with her own situation that she barely noticed anything else that was going on, especially between two of her best friends. It was any wonder they were talking to her at all, but it felt nice now. Comforting almost.

"I think so. Harry mentioned something about it the other day. Not about Ginny specifically, but I got the impression he was talking about her." Ron pulled a funny face.

"What did he say?" Hermione knew that he found it difficult thinking yet alone talking about his best friend with his little sister, but they both knew that Ginny was far from little anymore and that it was inevitable that she and Harry would end up together.

"That it was hard liking someone and not feeling right about doing anything about it because the circumstances pretty much suck. I thought he was referring to just You-Know-Who, but I think he almost meant me, being her older brother and all." He kicked a stray pebble with his toe. "It's weird, him and her together. I don't know if I'll ever get my head around it. Does that make me a bad friend?"

If he couldn't accept his best friend being in love with her sister, Hermione very much doubted Ron would ever come to terms with her predicament, regardless of the reasoning behind it. Even when it involved Dumbledore.

"It doesn't make you a bad friend Ron. It's just different, that's all. Ginny told me at the beginning of term that Harry didn't want to risk her safety by them being together because he cared for her too much." She shook her head, looking up at the sky that was just beginning to brighten as the rain let up. "She thinks that's bollocks, and I have to agree with her. Why should they stop living their lives just because of Voldemort..."

"Hermione!" Ron hissed anxiously and she turned back to glare at him.

"Oh please, how many times do I have to tell you it's just a name? Honestly Ron! Stop being a bloody prat about it, it's ridiculous. I have a good mind to tell Harry that he's being a prat to Ginny too actually. She loves him. Isn't that enough? For him and for you?" She took a deep breath. "Boys!"

He thought about what she had said. "So you think it's a good idea then?"

Hermione wondered what the real problem with him was. "Yes, I do. Not that it really has anything much to do with what I feel about it." She regarded him carefully. "Why are you so anxious about it?"

The famous Weasley blush began to appear on his cheeks. "I'm not! I just wanted to know your opinion."

She wasn't convinced. "This would have nothing to do with a certain blonde Ravenclaw would it?"

"No!" he replied quickly, glancing around nervously at the deserted streets.

"I'll take that as a firm yes, then." _Boys, honestly! _She decided to change the subject. "How are Fred and George?"

He looked relieved. "Oh you know, causing utter mayhem for mum and dad as usual. They're thinking of opening up a shop here actually," he said, nodding his head back in the direction of the high street.

"That would be great!" she said enthusiastically. "Maybe not for Zonko's, but I'm sure they'd do excellent business here."

"Yeah," Ron admitted. "But they'll only think of doing it if they can find a way to build a tunnel that connects to the one that links Honeydukes to Hogwarts so that students can pop by at anytime of the week...uh, only joking," Ron added quickly when he realised Hermione was probably not the best person share details of the plan with.

"I certainly hope not!" she replied angrily, giving him her best Molly Weasley stare. "Not if I have anything to do with it! I hope you told them that such a thing would be stupid, especially considering-"

He held his hands up in defense. "Okay, okay. Bad idea I know. Don't take it out on me." He glanced at his watch quickly. "Wow, look at the time. I said we'd meet the others five minutes ago, we'd better get going. I'm parched."

Hermione crossed her arms, deciding to let it drop. "Nice save," she muttered. She was about to say something else, but she got distracted by the sight of Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson strolling out of the forest further along the road, hand in hand. Pansy had this grin on her face that made Hermione's stomach turn and she rolled her eyes. "Urgh."

Ron turned to see what she was looking at. At that exact moment, Pansy had spotted them and whispered something into Malfoy's ear. His face was as impassive as ever, but he said something back that caused Pansy to burst out laughing and they both stared pointedly at Hermione. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Ron watching her too.

She shook her head and looked away. "Let's go," she muttered, twisting on her heel and walking back into the village. The rain had given up now and there was that damp smell hanging in the air, and the feeling of freshness that made everything seem new again. All tainted by the sight of Malfoy. What was he up to, in the forest with Pansy? She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"I'm going to buy you a butterbeer for having to put up with that lousy git," Ron said as he caught up with her easily.

"Make it a firewhisky, and you're on," she replied smiling. His eyes widened in surprise. "It was a joke. I am not advocating drinking during the day. Do you think we can pop into Gladrags quickly after?"

"First thing, what have I told you about the jokes? And secondly, sure we can." Ron shoved his hands in his pockets as he ducked from the playful hit she aimed at him for insulting her attempts to be humouress yet again. "Anything in particular you wanted to get?"

Hermione smiled. "Oh, you know," she said, feeling just the tiniest bit better having spent time with him, "just a quirky pair of socks or two for you and Harry, to say sorry for being such a lousy friend recently."

"Stop apologising, you're not a lousy friend," he replied, happily slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Being Head Girl equals big responsibility, we understand."

Hermione was in too good a mood to think otherwise.

~o~

Patrolling the halls was considered by many to be the most menial and boring task that a prefect had to do. It was not uncommon to be traded amongst prefects at a price, so long as the duty sheet was updated and signed off weekly the professors didn't seem to mind who walked the corridors late at night, so long as it was done. Hermione surprised herself by actually enjoying late night patrols, and volunteered herself often even though as Head Girl she could have easily delegated her shifts to someone else.

It had been a long Saturday, but the trip to Hogsmeade with her friends seemed to make everything a bit better. They'd sat in The Three Broomsticks for the rest of the afternoon and each drank their fair share of butterbeer. Seamus and Dean joined them halfway through and there had been an epic game of exploding snap that lasted right to the end, Ginny had won eventually much to the dismay of the boys. Hermione didn't get a chance to ask her about what she and Harry had obviously spoken about, but she seemed in much better spirits and promised to tell her about it later.

She'd been walking the halls for a good hour and hadn't spotted a single student out of bed after curfew, so she decided to call it a night. She absentmindedly found herself taking the long route back to the Head's quarters, but that could only be a good thing. It was getting easier to be there, and she could actually manage to sleep comfortably in her own bed without having to resort to sleeping on the couches in the Gryffindor common room anymore. Still, she preferred spending the least possible amount of time that she had to anywhere near Malfoy if she could help it.

A slight draught passed over her every now and again and she hadn't realised that it was so cold. It was exactly like the way she had lost her appetite recently. It went unnoticed until occasionally her stomach would rumble and she would realise that she was incredibly hungry but completely unaware of it. And sometimes it just disappeared again, just like that. It was kind of like she was diving underwater a lot of the time, especially when she was left alone with just her thoughts for company, only every now and again did she surface for air and these things bothered her.

She told herself it was because she was incredibly busy. The Halloween feast was approaching fast and it was left to her to try and organise it, as Malfoy had told her several times, and quite rudely too, that he was completely uninterested in having anything to do with it. Seeing as how the two of them could obviously not work together they had unofficially divided up all of their duties, only his seemed biased in doing everything that didn't involve hours and hours of work. So that left her being left responsible for arranging the prefects meetings, and for officiating over prefect delegated detentions. And organising the Halloween feast; which McGonagall had suggested somewhat candidly the other day after Transfiguration be turned into more of a ball this year, perhaps.

Really, Hermione knew it had been a ploy to get her to stay behind.

"There was something else I had been meaning to ask you, Hermione," the Deputy Headmistress said to her just as she was heading for the door.

Hermione groaned internally but turned around nevertheless. As much as she admired and respected her, she really didn't fancy a heart to heart with McGonagall right now. Unless...

"How are you getting along with your Head's duties?"

"Absolutely fine, Professor," she replied without hesitation, shuffling her back onto her other shoulder.

"They are not interfering with your studies, I hope."

She shook her head. "Not at all."

"Good." The elder witch regarded her from behind her square spectacles for a moment, as if contemplating what to say. "And are you coping?"

Hermione had been fidgeting with the book she was carrying under her arm but snapped back to attention. "Coping?" she asked, trying to delay the inevitable.

"With, you know," McGonagall made a rolling hand gesture.

"Oh, that," Hermione replied, letting out a breath she didn't realise she had been holding. "Just fine, thank you." Her voice screamed liar. She was certainly anything but fine.

McGonagall seemed to know that too, because she didn't look quite believing. "Hermione, I understand that this must be incredibly difficult to deal with, but I want you to know that my door is always open for you if you have anything you need to discuss. Anything at all."

"To be frightfully honest, Professor, I don't think you do understand," she said quickly before she lost the courage to say what she wanted to say. "And the only thing I want to discuss with any of you is to why I had to do it. I can't see why I should be kept in the dark." She looked her straight in the eye imploringly. "Can you tell me? Because you see, the only thing that really bothers me about this whole situation is that something is going on that involves me and I'm not allowed to know. If that's not a scary thought then I don't know what is."

She was clinging to false hopes. She knew that the Deputy Headmistress would tell her no more than Dumbledore, Snape or Malfoy would, and that became evident in the silence that settled in the near empty classroom. But Hermione had to try.

"I wish I could help you, Hermione, but I can't." There was such soft, genuine concern in her words that Hermione was taken aback slightly. It didn't help that she was looking at her the way her grandmother used to whenever something bad had happened. "I'm sorry."

Hermione nodded resolutely, hating how tears were beginning to prick at her eyes. "I thought as much."

She'd left the classroom after that, wondering what the point of it was. It was hard enough to have to face Snape and McGonagall in class without having to deal with anything else. She had felt bitterness towards her Deputy Headmistress for the first time that night, something she had never felt against her before; McGonagall had always been her favourite teacher. But what had she expected? Hermione wasn't about to go and open up to her teacher that she felt like two different people these days.

The darkness in the corridor got heavier if it were possible. She picked up the pace, ascending a set of stairs two at a time and turned left down the corridor. It was then that she heard the faint sound of muffled voices coming from behind her. She froze in her tracks, listening carefully. Whoever was talking was doing so just around the corner. She wished she had the Marauders map so she could see who it was.

Hermione contemplated ignoring it knowing that it was never good to eavesdrop, but curiosity always got the better of her. Before she knew what she was doing, she tiptoed silently along the shadows against the far wall holding out a hand to steady herself against it as she listened carefully.

It took every ounce of self-preservation not to jump out of her skin when she realised that it was Malfoy's voice she could hear.

~o~

Pansy Parkinson did not like being out late at night. She swapped her patrolling duties as a prefect every opportunity she could, always using the excuse that she needed her beauty sleep. She would be mortified if anyone found out that she was afraid of the dark, or worse, of the shadows in the dark. She edged along the corridor, keeping to the shadows and controlling her breathing, wondering not for the first time where he was. She glanced at her watch to check she had the right time.

Faint footsteps behind her caused her to jump around in alarm. She could feel the blood rushing through her ears her heart was beating so fast. A hand flew to her chest in relief when she saw the faint candlelight settle on platinum blonde hair.

"You're late," she whispered when he was in earshot. "And you scared me half to death."

"I was busy, I apologise. Are you alright?" He asked, taking in her dishevelled appearance.

"No. They're waiting for me to agree. I received a letter from my mother this morning." She could feel the heavy burden of it in her jean pocket. "I don't know what to do, Draco. What do I say to them?" She was pleading desperately she knew it, but she was afraid and had long given up her pride. "If they found out I was having doubts..."

"They won't find out," Draco responded, his voice calm. "You have to be brave."

She snorted. "I'm in Slytherin remember, not Gryffindor. Bravery doesn't come into the equation for someone like me. I need a plan." She shook her head sadly. "But it's hopeless, isn't it. They're giving me the Dark Mark and I can't do anything to stop them."

"Pansy-"

"No, don't bother Draco, there's no point in pretending it's not going to happen. It is. I was stupid in thinking that I would have any chance at all of preventing the inevitable. I was born to serve, to follow blindly like a helpless puppy at its masters' beck and call." She wrapped her arms around her chest, her foot scuffing the stone floor. "I'm just so angry," she said through gritted teeth, shaking her head miserably. Long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders and her bangs fell against her face from where she had pinned them back earlier. She was beyond caring about a few strands of hair when her whole life was crumbling around her.

For a while, neither spoke. That was the most infuriating thing about Draco. He always waited for you to speak first at times like these; he didn't offer false comfort when he didn't think it was necessary. Pansy looked over at him, studying his profile, thankful that he couldn't see what she was looking at in the dim light. He looked different somehow, but she wasn't sure what it was that was so different about him. "What's up with you anyway? You're awfully quiet tonight," she commented when the silence became unbearable.

The words ricocheted off the walls. "Maybe I just don't have anything to say."

She snorted. "Yeah right. and Harry Potter isn't the boy wonder. You've been like this ever since term started. Has something happened?"

He chose to ignore the question. "Have you thought about talking to Snape?" he suggested, gazing down at her seriously.

"No!"

"Pansy, I know you don't want to hear it but he can help you, but you need to make the first move. It's your only option."

"Ha, my only option is to do as I'm told, and that means getting the Dark Mark. It's not even like they're really asking me if I agree, they're telling me I have to. Merlin, I hate my life." She clutched her arm desperately where they would brand her as tears started making their descent on her cheeks. "It's not fair," she sobbed.

For a moment, he just stood there, and she could tell by the look on his face that he was not expecting her to have to announce her decision so soon. It was completely unexpected so soon. A silent look passed between them, one of understanding, and then he closed the space between them and let her wrap her arms around his neck and rest against him. It was the only comfort he could provide.

He rarely if ever let her touch him. To most of the school they were in a relationship, but unless you counted holding hands every now and again and sitting with each other at mealtimes a relationship, it was anything but. Pansy had been somewhat surprised when she had suggested, almost jokingly, at the start of term that it would look good for the both of them if they started dating, but he had agreed, although he made it clear that it would be for appearances sake only.

She pulled away from him reluctantly. "I'd better get back."

He nodded his head. She'd half hoped that he would invite her back to his room so that she could sleep by his side, but she knew that it was a fruitless wish. "Do you need me to walk you back?"

"No, it's alright, I'll be fine."

"Okay." He offered her a small smile, one most would never see. She watched as he walked away, blending easily into the darkness save for his hair, and then he was gone around the corner with all the swiftness of a candle blown out in the wind. Neither knew that Hermione Granger had been there mere moments before.

~o~

Hermione had never been so afraid of getting caught as she was when running back up to the Head's quarters that night. She had been taught never to eavesdrop on a conversation and yet she had, and an important one at that it seemed. The guilt at having done it was almost as bad as the fear that they might have noticed. It was wrong and none of her business and yet at the same time the most confusing exchange she had ever witnessed between two people she obviously didn't know at all.

She found it difficult to think about.

She charged through the door and only paused for breath when she was safely in her bedroom and leaning against the wooden frame.

What the hell had just happened?

She didn't want to think about the possibility that Malfoy had a nice bone somewhere in his body. That just couldn't possibly be true. He was an ignorant jerk. _But only to you and your friends_, she reasoned to herself. _Still..._

And Pansy didn't want to be a Deatheater?

It was all too much to think about. She pulled her robes off and hung them on the peg on the door as the conversation replayed in her mind over and over again. She shoved her feet in her slippers and walked right back out into the common room before she could stop herself. She wanted to see him come in.

A book she had been reading had been left on one of the end tables dotted around the room. She grabbed it and flicked to a random page as she sat in the large arm chair closest to the roaring fire, and waited.

It was ten minutes before he returned, and she wondered where he had could have possibly been in that time. He completely ignored her as he went to sit at the table at the far side of the room, throwing his cloak over the side of the couch.

"It's a bit late to be out, don't you think."

She heard the scratch of quill against parchment. "I don't remember anyone asking you for an opinion," he drawled.

Hermione dropped her book and stood up, turning to look over at him. Heat from the fire tickled the backs of her legs. "I have a question to ask you."

Draco looked up at her with incredulity before dropping his eyes back to his letter.

"That morning," she said suddenly, fingering the hem of her cotton top, "when you woke me up..."

He nodded once to indicate he remembered.

"Why did you do that?"

He didn't look up. "I thought for one impoverished second that you had perhaps overslept. And seeing as you have been looking increasingly slight as of late; I thought that you probably shouldn't miss breakfast." He dipped his quill back into the ink pot and started scribbling again. "Don't even begin to think for one second that it had anything to do with concern for you."

She wrapped her arms protectively over herself. "Do you like being this way?" she asked, stepping towards him. "You are so detached and cruel, as if nothing in the world means anything to you at all."

Draco smiled to himself. "I'll have you know that a great many things mean an awful lot to me. Just because I act in one manner towards you does not mean I act that way to everyone else, Granger. Far from it."

_Oh, I do know that Malfoy. I've seen it. _

She couldn't help herself. She was insanely curious, like a dog with an itch that had to be scratched. "Why do you dislike me so much then? What did I do to you to make you hate me so much?"

The sound of his quill scratching against the parchment was painful to her ears. "I dislike you immensely because you are everything I have been brought up to despise, to think less of, and to hate," he said eventually, still writing whatever it was he was writing. "From the moment I was born I was told that I was the best; that I was superior in blood and in heritage and that that fact was indisputable. I believed it too, until I came to this school. I knew nothing but what I was taught." He dropped the quill and looked up. "So imagine how it was for me, to come here and have to deal with the likes of _you_." He took a deep breath, as if he had released a dam of words and didn't know how to stop them flowing. "Who was this annoying girl, the one that always got better marks than me, even when we were just eleven? I was the pureblood, and you were just some muggleborn that was supposed to know nothing about magic. Only you didn't. I pretended for a long time that I hated you because you were best friends with Harry bloody Potter, the boy wonder. But that's unfair on him. I don't like you because you are an insufferable know-it-all that thinks she's so good it's sickening."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms. There was a bitter taste in her mouth. "Do you realise how pathetic that makes you sound?"

"Do you know how pathetic you sounded on the train to Hogwarts, _pleading_ with Dumbledore to tell you why you had to marry me, like some stupid whining child?"

"Oh that's right, deflect my assessment of you with one your own of me. How grown-up of you." This had been a bad idea. She needed to get away from him before something bad happened. Her legs started towards the stairs up to her room, but she stopped as another question fell from her lips.

"And what about me? I suppose I don't deserve any answers do I?" she asked, turning around to face him again. "Am I supposed to go mad with not knowing? Would it make it easier, if I were, I don't know, dead? Maybe will you tell me then?"

"Oh Granger, it really doesn't suit you to be so melodramatic. It's really unfortunate for you only because it is Dumbledore that doesn't want you to know what is going on and because you are a control freak who has to know everything about anything. The fact that you don't is tearing you apart because you can't stand to have a question unanswered. It doesn't matter really that the question is about our marriage, it matters because the answer is being kept from you. Is in not enough that you can retreat into the knowledge that you are being looked out for? That Dumbledore is doing this in your best interests?"

He let out a bitter laugh. "You don't have to worry, you're safe. The only thing getting to you is that you have all the questions but no one will give you any answer, not me, not Dumbledore, not your precious books."

Hermione didn't know what to say. How dare he belittle her, as if all of this was her fault. Didn't he understand? Obviously he didn't. She felt the anger towards him swell up inside of her. She wanted to tear him apart. She did the only thing she could think of. She picked up a cushion from one of the loungers and hurled it at him before thinking otherwise. It crashed with a soft thud into his ink bottle, spilling its contents everywhere and he jumped up in shock, looking down at the spilled ink in disbelief.

"Is that what you think?" she cried out in frustration, hurling another pillow at him. "Is that what you think?"

She grabbed a candle holder and threw it at him, quite wishing it would smash into him. "As if that's all I have to worry about? You think I should be happy that I have no idea what's going on, that I shouldn't be scared that something bad is obviously going to happen?" A glass that had been left on the coffee table earlier that day went flying across the room, and he had to duck to miss it. It smashed against the far wall and the pieces shattered to the floor. "I couldn't give two hoots about what happens to me!" she screamed. "I'm worried about my friends, I'm worried about my parents - I'm damn worried about the safety of every student in this stupid school!" She found another cushion and threw that at him too, any surprise she felt at him not responding masked by her fury. "I'm scared because I know what's out there, I've seen it with my own eyes and I can't do anything to stop it coming," she yelled, inches from him now, her face flustered and tears stinging at her eyes. "Our fucking marriage is the icing on the cake as far as I'm concerned."

For his part, Draco Malfoy remained completely and utterly frozen. He watched her unblinkingly and face impassive, with all the cool calm of someone not watching a breakdown.

"And most of all," Hermione said taking a deep breath as she struggled to hold back the tears, grabbing the last cushion from the sofa, holding it between them. "Most of all," she gasped as a sob escaped her control, "Most of all, I hate that _you_," she hit him with the pillow, "you of all people... can be so damn well composed-" the same pillow hit him again, "all of the time," she shuddered as she gave him another hit, "because you don't care," the cushion slipped from her hands and she truly was sobbing now, sobbing for all of the misery and despair that had been locked inside her for the last month and a half. She pummelled her fists against his chest. "How," she choked, "how do you do it?"

Draco barely flinched as her fits came into contact with his chest, and for the first time in his life he really didn't know what to do. No one could have possibly prepared him for it.

Granger was terrifying him.

He'd never seen a person breakdown like that before, most certainly not right there in front of him. Every part of his upbringing told him to throw her aside and stamp all over her. But the human part of even him wouldn't even let him think of doing such a thing. Which was probably why he was just standing there, doing nothing.

"Granger," he said quietly.

She was still hitting him. She was so wracked with sobs though, that thankfully for him there was no weight behind her hands. Not that a punch from her would hurt him in the first place.

"Granger," he said again, grabbing her wrists with his a surprising gentleness. He wasn't even sure why he was being nice to her.

She froze in front of him as soon as his skin came into contact with hers, tears trickling down her cheeks. "I do what I do because I have to. I don't have the luxury of choice." His voice was barely a whisper. Their eyes locked for the briefest moment. "It's harder for you because you do."

A long painful silence stretched between them. Outside, the sky had darkened and clouds were threatening with rain. Hermione tore her gaze from his first, her cheeks not red with embarrassment but white with shame. He let go of her wrists and they fell limply to her sides..

"I'm sorry for hitting you," she managed to say after taking some deep breaths, her voice a croak. "And sorry for destroying the common room." She paused. "I'm sorry that you had to marry me too, for whatever reason."

That last sentence would have almost been funny, if she had the ability to laugh.

She stepped back away from him, not looking up at his face once, not wanting to see whatever it was he felt towards her. She walked calmly not up to her room, but out onto the balcony, carefully shutting the doors behind her without turning around. She would suffocate if she had to stay inside a moment longer. Leaning against the cold glass, feeling the freezing air rush into her lungs, she cried again. This time, tears came not only from despair that she felt for her friends, but from embarrassment for being weak in front of Malfoy, and for the fact that he had to be so damn confusing.

He would never tell anyone about the way he saw her cry.

And she would never let it happen again.

~o~

It was pointless trying to sleep that night. So many thoughts were going through his head that he considered downing a bottle of firewhisky to knock him out entirely so they couldn't consume him anymore. He rolled over, the sheet twisting underneath him. It was no use; sleep was eluding him completely tonight.

With a silent groan of exhaustion he pulled himself up from the bed and headed quietly to the bathroom. The rush of icy cold water from the tap was deafening to his ears, like a thudding rush to the head.

It had affected him in a way that nothing ever had, seeing Granger break down like that. And he didn't like it. What had happened last night, the way he acted, was nothing personal. It should mean nothing, but it hadn't. He had pitied her, and he was going to beat himself up for it. He grabbed his top of the range Firebolt from where it rested by the door and headed for the balcony. If he couldn't sleep, he was going to fly until he could.

Hermione glanced at him briefly before hurrying towards the portrait, her head down.

You didn't have to be a genius to notice that she was ashamed.

~o~

Hermione thought she wanted to die. She wished she could ask Madam Pomfrey to obliterate her memory so that she could forget all about it, but of course she couldn't. The night's events were playing around in her head on repeat and nothing was able to distract her from it. Not the Halloween feast that McGonagall had reminded her she had to organise two days ago, not the pile of next weeks homework. Nor the book she had been staring at for the last two hours.

She didn't know anything anymore. Not about Pansy Parkinson. Certainly not about Draco Malfoy. That was all she needed.

Harry and Ron had stopped by the library earlier to see what she was up to, and she was able to lie easily enough that she was stressed out from Heads duties, which wasn't a complete fabrication. They had left to go and play Quidditch but said they would be back later to do their homework with her, which meant that they needed her help but she didn't mind. It was another distraction.

She wasn't alone for long. He practically sauntered into the library with all of the air of someone who knew that they were better than everyone else, and of all the tables set amongst the endless aisles of books, he managed to find hers as if she wasn't trying to hide from the world, when in fact she hopelessly was.

He didn't look at her as he perched on the table next to where she was working. Except she wasn't really working he could tell, because she was staring straight ahead with a book upside down in front of her. And she had that look on her face. The one that said she was ashamed at being upset that he'd seen earlier.

"Are you okay?"

She resisted the urge to turn and face him. "Okay?" she repeated questioningly, the word barely making it out from the confines of her constricted throat intact. It was all she could say. Hermione Granger would be damned if she would breakdown in front of Malfoy again; she had to avoid speaking if she were to be successful in that regard. Why was he asking her if she was okay, anyway? Was the world turned upside down today?

She felt him shift and thought that he was probably analysing her with those eyes that she despised so much. She was resolute though and her gaze remained fixed on the nothing she had been looking at since Harry and Ron had left straight ahead. She could barely see.

"I'm okay," she forced through bitter lying teeth when the uncomfortable feeling of being watched settled in her stomach and she could take the silence no longer.

There was rustling and then his presence was no longer besides her. "Okay," was all he said to that, walking away. He stopped for a moment and then turned around and headed back. "This never happened, are we clear? I still despise you and you still despise me. This changes absolutely nothing about us." It was not a question. She didn't need to answer.

She heard the creak of the library doors being pushed open, followed by the slap of wood against stone and the whoosh as they settled back into place, thankful he was gone.

Hermione grimaced in frustration, wanting to scream but thankful that being in the library stopped her from doing so. She shoved the book she hadn't been reading for a long time harshly, sending in careening off of the table and collapsing to the floor.

Her head fell into her hands. She was not okay, and he knew that. He knew because he wasn't either.

~o~

She didn't have to face him until Potions last thing Monday afternoon the following day. Surprisingly, it was easier than she thought to go back to being defensive around him, and he hurtled more cruel comments at her in that lesson than he had done all week so everything was great in that regard.

"Malfoy," she called out from behind him, running along the corridor to catch up with him after the lesson had finished, her book bag shifting against her side angrily.

He slowed his pace slightly.

"I've had an idea," she said to him what she had caught up, only slightly flustered.

"Oh goody," he replied sarcastically, his demeanour taking her aback. "Is it as good as S.P.E.W? If it is, count me out."

She pursed her lips together. "I'll have you know that S.P.E.W is-"

"I couldn't care less, Granger. What was your idea?" he asked irritably, absentmindedly rubbing the back of his head. He needed to talk to Blaise. Urgently.

"We need to do more to promote inter-house unity, after all that _was _one of the reasons that we were both offered Head positions."

Draco scoffed.

"I think we promote inter-house unity in more than enough ways."

"Yes, but it's not like anyone can be told about _that_," she replied tersely, pulling a sheet of parchment from her satchel and handed it to him.

"What's this?"

"A seating plan for the Halloween feast."

He stopped walking suddenly, his eyes scanning the parchment quickly. "I can see that unfortunately." He looked up at her over the parchment. "Why have you wasted a perfectly good piece of parchment with this nonsense? There is a perfectly good seating plan in place already if you hadn't noticed; I'm quite fond of it actually, as it involves me sitting as far away as possible from you and all of your goody-too-shoes, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-your-mouths friends. This," he said, waving the parchment in front of her face, "it bollocks."

She watched him clearly unimpressed. "If you've quite finished acting like a spoiled brat-"

"Actually I haven't, thanks," he replied, ripping the parchment up and throwing it on the floor. She watched as the pieces slowly fluttered to the ground. When they had all landed she sighed, reaching into her robes for her wand and muttered _reparo _before bending down to pick up the repaired parchment.

"I'm sure Dumbledore will be thrilled to hear of your enthusiasm for this, I'll be sure to let him know," she said, stuffing the parchment back into her satchel. It satisfied her seeing him grow increasingly more furious with her. His fists were clenched at his sides now and he looked like he wanted to hit her. It was much easier like this, she had come to realise. It made it easy to forget.

"Oh, friends again now are we?" he inquired, a sneer written all over his face. "Forgiven him for not sharing everything with you already That's noble of you. _I'll be sure to let him know_," he reiterated.

Hermione took a deep breath, and forced back all of the things she wanted to say to him. She would not give him the satisfaction of riling her up anymore. "If you'd be so kind." She paused as a group of students filed past them quickly, shooting curious gazes in their direction. "Nothing you can do or say is going to stop this from happening. It's a done deal, so you're going to have to live with it."

"And what about everyone else?" he challenged. "I'm quite sure everybody in this damned school will hate the idea of sitting with other houses. Have you thought about that?"

She huffed. "Of course I have! And so what if they all hate the idea of it? It's just for one meal, surely that can be managed by us all. We all go to the same school, we all breath the same air and we all eat the same food..."

"Whatever, I think it's bullshit. However, I do have somewhere to be you know and it's definitely not standing here talking about crap like seating plans with you," he said yawning pointedly, only angering her even more.

"Oh, go and fuck yourself Malfoy," she spat, turning on her heel and storming off down the corridor, disbelieving that the person he was today and the person he was yesterday were the same thing.

It took a great deal of self-control on his behalf to not get out his wand and hex her retreating form.

Needless to say, when word got out of the seating plan for the feast after a particularly heated prefects meeting a day later, there was a great deal of backlash aimed at Hermione both along the corridors and in all of her classes. The news spread like wildfire, and most people were unsurprisingly against the idea of sitting with other houses even for just one night. Well, the Slytherins' hated the idea of sitting with anyone from any other house for any reason whatsoever, and the feeling was mutually reciprocated by members of every other house much to Hermione's dismay.

She had tried to defend her idea by explaining her reasoning, but it was to no avail. Although some students, like Padma Patil and Ernie Macmillan agreed with her, it didn't stop everyone else from taking out their disbelief and anger on Hermione by muttering about her under their breaths in voices she could clearly hear during lessons, or shooting angry glances at her during dinner.

Harry and Ron tried in their best efforts to be supportive; but even that wasn't enough and she knew that they were probably just as unhappy as the rest. At first she was almost upset by how people had turned against her - couldn't they see why she had done it? That thought was immediately replaced with anger and the feeling that she went to school with complete imbeciles who couldn't even put differences aside for one evening of their lives. She tuned them all out and kept her head buried in her work for the rest of the day, not even bothering to show up for dinner where she knew the gossiping behind her back would be worse.

Well, she didn't become Head Girl to make friends and be afraid to do what she felt was right, did she?

~o~

Homework kept her up until 2 am that night. She awoke the following morning with a viscous start, quickly checking the clock on her bedside table as a feeling of disorientated panic settled in her stomach. It was 8:37 and she was most definitely running late. She groaned loudly into her pillow, wishing desperately that it was the weekend so she could sleep a little longer. Throwing the covers off she stifled a yawn, grimacing against the permanent cold that seemed to have taken residence in her room as she got up from the bed and shuffled sleeplessly over to the dresser. The stone floor sent chills up her body through the soles of her bare feet, jolting her awake. It was the worst possible start to the day.

There was barely enough time to put her school uniform on and slip her feet into her shoes before she grabbed her satchel and hurried out of the door. She checked her watch as she hurried down the corridor, 8:41, there was just enough time to grab something for breakfast and make it to charms on time.

And then came a call of nature that put the spanner into the works of that plan. Hermione stopped. She was on the third floor which meant that the notorious girls' bathroom was nearby. She'd have to skip breakfast again, and all she could hope was that the bathroom would be empty.

She pushed the door open and was relieved to have some good luck at least, it was deserted. She dropped her bag on the side and went into one of the stalls.

The morning sun was shining brightly outside, fat beams streaking in through the large enchanted windows that allowed you to see out over the grounds but not in, and the light settled on the pristine white walls with perfection.

Hermione took the opportunity to gaze at her reflection in the mirror as she washed her hands. She was appalled with what she saw. Dark circles had found their way around her eyes and her skin was blotchy from the exertion of rushing. Her hair, usually so full of its own life, was hanging much straighter than usual over her head, almost as if it were limp and devoid of any life at all. She didn't recognise herself.

Normally she didn't give much thought to what she looked like, but she was Head Girl now and at least needed to look presentable. She reached for her satchel and quickly rummaged to the bottom, finding a lipstick Ginny had given her to look after the other day, a small tube of concealer she kept for bad skin days and a well-worn out comb.

She washed her face quickly with handwash (she was desperate) and dried it with a paper towel before dabbing some concealer around her eyes and rubbing it in. The comb made little difference to the state of her hair but it was better than nothing, she used it to tidy up her parting down the middle. The lipstick was not really to her taste, but the soft pink colour was subtle enough. Standing back from the sink she surveyed the results. She actually didn't look half bad. At least better than she did before.

Checking her watch one final time, she threw everything back into her bag and set off in a run. She reached the classroom with three minutes to spare.

It was utter chaos inside of course.

"There you are," Ron said to her as she walked into the noisy room and headed up to her usual seat. The Gryffindor 7th Year boys were sat lounging around in a group, discussing Quidditch most likely as they waited for Professor Flitwick to arrive. Ron was perched on a desk with his feet resting on her seat. He had the sports section of the Daily Prophet open on his lap.

Harry was sprawled in his own chair, grinning at something Seamus had said. "We wondered where you'd got to," he added, reaching for something in his bag.

"I overslept, didn't I," Hermione muttered, shoving Ron's feet away so she could sit down.

"Oooh, someone's touchy this morning," Dean Thomas joked. She turned to glare at him. "Daggers, Hermione is glaring daggers at me."

She laughed in spite of herself as she set her inkpot on the desk.

"Here," Harry said, passing her two pieces of buttered toast wrapped in kitchen roll. "Thought you might like something to eat seeing as you missed breakfast."

"Thanks Harry," she said smiling gratefully, putting it to the side as she retrieved some parchment from her bag along with her book. She started flicking through to the right page.

He looked at her quizzically. "Aren't you going to-"

"Blubbersnot!" Ron exclaimed, causing everyone within earshot to burst into giggles. He held the paper he was still reading closer to his face. "The canons' have only gone and signed Kennith Mullet as chaser!"

Seamus jumped up from his seat. "No way!"

"They did! Beating Kenmare Kestrels to signing him. Ha! That's bloody unbelievable."

Seamus shook his head bitterly and fell into his seat. "No it ain't. It's bloody unfair, that's what it is. We wanted him, he was supposed to play for us." Seamus was the Kestrels' biggest fan, even Hermione knew that. He spoke about them incessantly.

She looked up from the page she had been skimming. "Didn't he play for Ireland in the Quidditch World Cup?" Hermione asked, knowing she'd heard that name somewhere.

Ron nodded excitedly. "Yeah, he did. Do you know what this means? We might actually win the National Cup this year!" he told her, still beaming.

"Doubtful Weasley," Justin Finch-Fletchley called out across the room.

"Wanna bet?" Ron asked, jumping off the desk and walking over to where the Hufflepuffs were sat on the side of the room, perching himself on another desk. As if he needed to make himself any taller.

Hermione rolled her eyes, fiddling with the kitchen paper that was still wrapped around the toast Harry had given her. The boys were engrossed in debating quidditch and football now that she was left sat in silence, staring at the clock as she wondered where Flitwick had gotten too.

"Hey Hermione."

Lavender Brown had plonked herself down in the empty seat the other side of her with a whoosh of perfectly styled blonde hair and manicured nails. She smiled a hello.

"I wanted to tell you that I think what you're doing with the Halloween feast is a really good idea. It's just the kind of thing this school needs, and I know you got cut a lot of flak yesterday for it, but if you need a hand at all, just give me a shout. I'd be happy to help."

"Thanks," Hermione replied appreciatively. She had always liked Lavender, she was the kind of person who was always completely honest with you and didn't beat around the bush. "That would be great if you had the time. I'm not exactly being flooded with offers of help as you can imagine, even from the prefects."

The blonde girl shrugged a shoulder as if to say sod them. "It's no problem." She shot her an unnerving glance. "You look different today by the way."

"I do?"

"Don't sound so surprised, I meant it in a good way. You look really good actually, not that you don't usually – you know what I mean. Have you lost weight?" She inquired in rapid succession, lowering her voice a little bit.

"Um, no. I don't think so," Hermione replied quickly as her eyes widened in shock, painfully aware that Harry was listening in to the conversation next to her.

Lavender stared at her for a moment. "Hmmm. Well, cool. We'll sit together at lunch if you like, to start planning this feast." She jumped up and at that moment Flitwick appeared at the front of class.

"I'll see you," she said as she hurried to the back of class where she sat with Parvati and Susan.

Hermione felt unsettled. She glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw that Harry was still watching her. She grabbed the toast and took a large bite as Flitwick started clearing his throat, hoping it made a point. "Everyone in their places please," he called out as she chewed hastily. "Including you Mr Weasley," he added. Ron leapt up and bounded back to his seat as everyone else settled down, saluting Flitwick with his hand.

"Very funny. You might want to pay close attention though Mr Weasley, you might enjoy what we're about to do today."

"Oh, come now Professor, lets not get too far ahead of ourselves." The whole class laughed, well everyone except Hermione laughed. She was busy writing the date at the top of her parchment to join in with the joke.

"Not so fast! Today we will be learning how to charm Quaffles so that they can speak in a manner similar to parrots." A cheer went up in the class as he shuffled his short legs to a box that had gone thus far unnoticed at the front of the room, and threw it open. "You can work in small groups of no more than three. I will write the incantation you need on the board. As we've been working on this type of spell for nearly two weeks, I'm not going to tell you which parts you need to stress, you'll have to figure that out for yourselves. Hopefully by now you know the wand movements well enough."

That was highly unlikely, Hermione thought.

"Off you go!"

Hermione groaned, causing Harry and Ron to grin. Everyone else was rushing to the front of the class to retrieve Quaffles for their groups. "We'll go pick a good one for us," Ron told her slapping her lightly on the back. "No need to worry, I'm sure Harry and I will have a natural affinity for this type of task."

"About as much affinity as parrots with wands I'm sure," she replied. "Of you go then." She slouched slightly in her seat, the corners of her mouth twitching up.

"Eat that toast," Harry told her as he followed Ron to the front where quaffles were being thrown around left right and centre. There was a whole lot more laughter and giggles than there had been before Flitwick arrived.

Her eyes were pulled towards the ring that they couldn't see on her left hand. It was twinkling in the sunlight, seemingly harmless. She felt sick. There was no escaping it. Every time the sight of it and what it represented caused her stomach to do somersaults and her head to spin. She wasn't the slightest bit hungry. Checking that no one was watching, she pulled her bag onto her lap and stuffed the toast into it. She left the kitchen roll on the desk with some crumbs to avoid suspicion and dropped the bag quickly back onto the floor.

By the time Harry and Ron finally returned to their seats with a quaffle she'd forgotten all about it, and focused all of her attention on their task. Everything was fine.

~o~


	11. Chapter Ten

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. **

**Chapter Ten**

**Guys and Girls**

"What do you think about pumpkin pastries for desert?" Lavender asked Hermione from behind the magazine she had been reading through for the last five minutes. "We could have them shaped like actual pumpkins with the filling inside glowing? Only miniature of course."

Hermione looked up from the parchment she had been scribbling on. "That sounds good. Didn't we have something like that in second year?"

Lavender shrugged, causing a cascade of long blonde hair to tumble over her shoulder. She fiddled with the half eaten chicken sandwich in her hand as she focused on the magazine again. "I don't think the filling glowed last time. I'm sure there's a spell somewhere for it."

They'd been discussing the Halloween feast for the last half an hour over lunch, and already Lavender had suggested half a dozen things that Hermione would never have thought of by herself. She'd also dismissed half a dozen things that Hermione had already had in mind for the feast with a casual wave of her hand. That was Lavender's way – swift, blunt and ever-so-efficient, she didn't mess around. Harry and Ron had tried to be supportive at first, sitting down either side of her at the beginning of the lunch hour, but had quickly disappeared down the other end of the table when Lavender had started probing about what Hermione planned on wearing to the feast. She didn't blame them.

"And I was thinking," Lavender continued excitedly as she picked another magazine up from the pile she had brought down from the dorm with her free hand, "that we could have little skull chocolate mints on the side as a sort of decoration. I saw something just like it in Witch Weekly."

"Chocolate and pumpkin together?" Hermione inquired with a raised eyebrow.

The blonde haired girl grinned as perfectly manicured fingernails flicked through the magazine. "An interesting combination don't you think?"

Hermione couldn't think of a reason why not, so she scribbled the idea down, adding it to the growing list that was beginning to frighten her. She chewed on the end of her quill as a thought crossed her mind.

"What about flyers around the school, you'll need to do that soon. Everyone has to attend of course but you want them all to be excited about it at least. And we need to think about decorations – we'll need to come up with some sort of plan don't you think for where we'll put everything? What –" she asked deadpan at the funny look Hermione was giving her, "- you don't honestly think that you could just turn up half an hour before the feast and start waving your wand around did you?"

Actually, Hermione had been thinking just that.

Lavender leant forward. "Listen, my mum's great aunt twice removed used to be this famous magical decorator over in the United States. She taught me a few things a couple of summers ago before she died. It's not as easy as it looks."

"I thought maybe the house-elves just-"

"No. No. Absolutely not. Tell me what you want and leave the rest to me."

"Alright." Hermione pushed the quill and parchment aside, replacing it with a plate of sandwiches. She chose an egg mayonnaise one, and filled a cup with pumpkin juice. "Are you sure you don't mind getting involved? It's a lot of work, evidently. The prefects should be doing it really, but most are against the idea and it's hard enough with all of the extra patrols we've been told to do without another burden."

Lavender shook her head. "Are you kidding me? This isn't work to me, this is practice. I'm thinking of going into designing and planning events after school – this is right up my alley. Leave as much of it as you want to me."

Hermione could only smile her thanks.

"Are you really going to wear that dress?" Lavender asked her, stacking the magazines up next to her plate. She was referring to the dress that she had shown Ginny the night before, the one Ginny had immediately taken a dislike to it and refused point blank to let Hermione wear it ever again. It seemed like she'd been spreading her disdain.

"No she's not," Ginny said as she sat down next to them. "You're not," she added to Hermione directly. "It's horrible and completely unsuitable. You'll have to get something else."

"You sound like your mother."

The redhead giggled. "Good. I can act just like her to if it stops you wearing that dress."

"Does it really matter what I wear?" Hermione asked incredulously, looking between the two for a shred of understanding.

Lavender and Ginny shared a pointed look. "Uh, yes!"

"Hermione, this is the first time we've had a proper ball with dancing at Halloween, the first ball we've had in ages I might add, and you're the one organising it. It therefore _is_ quite a big deal, and that means that you most certainly cannot just 'rock up' to the ball wearing _that_ monstrosity you call a dress," Ginny told her as she glanced down the table, searching for someone. "But don't worry," she continued, tuning back to them, "you're lucky. McGonagall has just put a notice up in the entrance hall announcing an extra Hogsmeade trip a week before the ball, so we'll get something then."

"There must be something amazing in Gladrags for her," Lavender said quickly to Ginny before Hermione could argue. "I went in there the other day and there were just so many beautiful dresses and gowns, I'm telling you. Yvette had this azure coloured off the shoulder creation she'd just finished working on. I'd kill to have it."

The two girls let out a collective sigh, and not for the first time Hermione was glad to have Harry and Ron for best friends to save her from all of the girlishness that even Ginny couldn't escape. It was more than she could handle.

"Imagine how good she'll look."

Lavender took it one step further. "Imagine how good she and Malfoy will look _together_."

She hadn't meant to knock the glass of pumpkin juice all over the table, it just sort of happened. "Excuse me?" Hermione spluttered to Lavender as she attempted to mop up the spilled liquid with a napkin, coughing all the while as juice trickled down her windpipe. "What did you just say?"

"I'm going," Ginny said excusing herself quickly from what was sure to follow, heading down the table to find her friends.

The blonde haired girl looked taken aback by Hermione's tone. "Nothing – I was just saying that you and Malfoy would-"

"Well don't, alright?" Hermione interrupted. "Don't say anything about me and him in the same sentence together at all."

"But surely you realise as Head Boy and Girl that you have to-"

"Lavender! Please don't talk about it. Please."

Excitement was lighting up in Lavender's eyes. "Why?" she questioned, a smile spreading across her lips. "Is something going on between the two of you?" she asked in a manner she probably thought conspiring.

Hermione paled. "No! How could you even possibly think such a thing?"

"I don't know - maybe it's the way you are completely overreacting at my mere mentioning of him," Lavender whispered accusingly. "Or the fact that you look like you're about to have a heart attack."

"I'm not overreacting. I simply don't like-"

"You are overeacting. And this isn't the only time you have. You've been on edge ever since term began, and I'm willing to bet it has something to do with the current Head Boy."

"I have not been on edge."

"Yes, you have. Denying it doesn't make it not true, Hermione. Look, I'm not trying to accuse you or rile you up, I promise I'm not. But I am concerned, everyone is. They're just too scared of you to admit it to your face.

"And you're not?"

Lavender smiled her pearly whites. "Nah, nothing you can say would frighten me. I'm perfectly fearless. There's nothing wrong with it you know," she added as if for Hermione's benefit. "Loads and loads of girls fancy him. He's gorgeous."

Hermione's eyes couldn't possibly widen any more lest her eyes pop out. This had been a bad idea, she realised that now. Girls like Lavender Brown were always talking about boys, or thinking about boys, or dreaming about them. She could not remember for the life of her overhearing any conversation involving her fellow Gryffindor that did not involve a boy in some way. She should have prepared herself better for it was obvious the tone of conversation would eventually turn towards it, it was inevitable; fool was her for not expecting it.

"What's he like to you?" Lavender asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Hermione remembered Harry asking her a similar question not long ago. "Perfectly amicable," she answered, not trusting herself to say anything else. "Look Lavender, I really appreciate all of your help with the Halloween Ball, believe me you've saved my sanity and a lot of hard work. But there really is no need to concern yourself with anything else. Just because Malfoy is Head Boy and I am Head Girl does not mean we drop 6 years of grudges and animosity, and neither does it mean we're the best of friends."

_Actually, we're married. Isn't that a surprise._

"And it doesn't mean I fancy him either," she said so quickly in her flustered state that she wouldn't be surprised if Lavender thought she did.

Thankfully, she spotted Harry getting up from the far end of the Gryffindor table. She gathered her things quickly, shoving parchment and quills back into her bag and stood up. "Thanks again Lavender, I'll catch up with you tomorrow ok?" Without waiting for a response she hurried after Harry's retreating form heading out of the Great Hall.

Parvati Patil moved from up the table to take over Hermione's vacated place as soon as she'd gone. "What was all that about?" she asked her friend eagerly.

"I have no idea," Lavender replied truthfully.

~o~

"Harry, wait up!"

"Hey," he greeted her when she'd caught up with him. "Good lunch?"

She gave him a look that said it all. "I can't complain really, I need Lavender's input and her support is more than useful. Do you have a free period now?"

"Yeah, a couple of us are just about to play Quidditch. We could always use a scorekeeper though, how about it? The fresh air might do you some good."

The weather for once was perfect outside, and it would be a shame to pass it up when winter was fast approaching, she summised. Besides, she was already on top of all her homework and would only sit and fret in the library about the ball. Or about ancient wizarding marriage laws. "Actually, that sounds great."

"Shouldn't the prefects be helping you with this ball?" Harry asked as they stepped outside, the cool crisp air stinging their cheeks.

Hermione sighed as she rummaged through her pockets for something. "Well, yes. But only Padma and a few others are really keen about it and I don't want to force anyone to get involved if they disagree with a silly seating policy. Honestly, I don't know what is wrong with everyone at this school. Dumbledore was right when he said Voldemort's biggest weapon against us was ourselves. We're too caught up in our own house politics to see that really we should be sticking together as a school, and yet everyone balks at sitting next to someone different for one hour." She stopped suddenly. "Dammit, it should be here."

She'd left the potion Snape had given her to take up in her room. "I'll meet you down at the pitch in ten minutes, I've forgotten something upstairs. I won't be long."

"What is it," she asked suddenly, turning back towards him, "about bloody Draco Malfoy that is so great anyway?"

Harry stood flabbergasted. "I don't know Her-"

"I mean, has the entire female population suddenly forgotten who his father is? Has he placed a confundus charm on the lot of them? Have they forgotten that he is an arrogant, stuck up, conceited jerk who struts around hiding behind his cronies as if he owns the school? Do you know, it actually makes me feel physically sick when I hear girls talking about him like he's some sort of tormented dreamboat. You know, I bet it's because he's the bad boy. Girls always fancy the bad boy don't they? They think they can change him but that's just ridiculous because this is Draco Malfoy we're talking about, right?" She took a deep breath, waiting for him to say something.

"Er, _you're_ talking about him," Harry started carefully. "And you've just completely contradicted yourself, you do realise that right?"

She stared at him confusedly for a moment. "This is why I hate him!" she screeched, stamping her foot angrily. "How can I promote interhouse unity when I hate him?" _And I'm married to him._"It's just so frustrating Harry, not to mention confusing." Hermione scrunched her eyes shut tightly and balled her fists against her sides and let out a small growl of annoyance. Harry stepped back worriedly.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes," she let out impatiently. Too impatiently she realised, for it wasn't Harry's fault she was in a bad mood. She offered him an apologetic smile and kissed his cheek quickly. "I just don't understand girls, that's all. I think I'll skip the Quidditch practice if that's ok, I'll see you at dinner."

She left Harry standing there completely out of sorts.

"I don't understand girls either," he muttered, heading for the pitch and the company of much simpler males.

~o~

The Head's dormitory was possibly in the worse location of the entire school, for it seemed to take an age to get there and was so far out of the way. Hermione felt her legs aching as she rushed up the stairs and along the corridor. Her anger pushed her along. It was funny how it seemed to have come out of nowhere, without warning. But she knew what it was about. She was angry at herself, angry for being so blind that she hadn't thought of how prejudiced she was being. How could she expect everyone in the school to embrace any sort of change when she couldn't even bring herself to do so?

If Dumbledore trusted Malfoy, then she was going to trust him no matter how much it pained her to do so. There had to be a good reason for him forcing their marriage, and if he didn't want her to know what it was then she would put her faith in him that it was for the right reason.

She reached the small, unmarked oak door and pulled out her key. If she hurried, she could get down to the library and spend the whole of her afternoon devising a revision timetable for the NEWTs. She could even work on timetables for Harry and Ron. A sense of normalcy flooded over her as she turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door.

It wasn't going to last.

Hermione looked up to find Draco Malfoy standing rigid right in front of her with the most haunting look she had ever seen in his eyes.

She stopped motionless, the door half open behind her and her key stuck in her hand and all thought of putting her trust in anyone discarded.

"He's dead."

There was a long, drawn out silence in which neither let out a breath. "Who's dead?" she asked when he made no motion to clarify.

"The minister who married us."

Hermione's eyes widened. "He's dead?" she whispered horrified, a million thoughts whirling through her mind. That man, the bumbling man who had stared into her eyes and known exactly what she didn't know herself. "But, how-"

"I think you'd better sit down," he told her, shutting the door to the corridor quietly. "I'm going to tell you everything."

_To be continued..._


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Disclaimer: Of course it's not mine.**

**Life always manages to get in the way, so apologies for the delay. I had thought, for a very short time, that I might not be able to finish this story but then I realised I couldn't possibly not finish it, it just might take a while. This chapter, which does contain the reason for the marriage (hurrah) was incredibly difficult to write. Thanks to imadoodlenoodle, who beta'd the main part of this chapter. It has changed significantly in some parts, but the core elements are the same.**

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far!**

~o~

**Chapter Eleven**

**Of Friends, Reasons and Transformations**

~o~

"Here, catch this," Blaise called out from across the pitch as he threw a Quaffle up into the air. Draco leant forward on his broom and zoomed after it, enjoying the sensation of the wind tearing through his hair as he sped up across the field. He caught the Quaffle easily, barely having to stretch out his arm. Carefully tucking it against himself, he looped around a stand and bolted back to the pitch.

"Nice catch," his friend commended fifty feet below from where he was lounging on the grass. Draco didn't smile at the compliment.

"Do two this time," he shouted, throwing the Quaffle down to his friend before coasting higher.

Blaise watched him with a sceptical eye as he retrieved the Quaffle from where it had fallen onto the grass. He should have been angry that a friendly game of one-on-one Quidditch had turned him into nothing more than a prop throwing balls into the sky, but then again he wasn't Draco Malfoy and at least he had that thought for company.

He kicked open the crate of Quidditch balls and found another Quaffle. The bludgers fought viscously against their restraints, shaking the box, and the snitch tried desperately in vain to open its wings and failed miserably. "Not today, boys," he muttered regretfully, slamming the lid down. "Oi, Draco," he cried, looking up to see where he had got to. "Do you want these or not?"

When he got no response, he kicked the crate open in frustration and dropped the balls back in, picked up his broom and took off.

Draco was floating at the edge of the outer boundary of the pitch, one leg dangling from the broom leisurely. He was leaning against the handle and watching something. Blaise slowed as he approached him, and followed his gaze which was off towards the school. He squinted his eyes to make out what Draco was focusing on, but he could discern nothing.

"Let me guess, this is about Granger," he said after a long moment that saw them both hovering fifty foot in the air. He turned to look at his friend who was swaying slightly in the wind. He was afraid he might have forgotten he was flying and fall to the ground any minute. "What's the matter with you today?" he asked somewhat indignantly where he could bare the silence no longer.

The blonde man didn't tear his gaze away from the school. "I have to tell her." They both knew what he was referring to. The reason. "She'll never understand that it's easier on both of us if she doesn't know, at least easier on me. If she things knowing will make everything better, she's wrong." He swayed slightly. "What do you think?" he asked.

Blaise shrugged. "Do _you_ think it's right that she doesn't know?" he countered carefully, picking of a loose splinter from his broom, letting his gaze wander off to the forest above which a pack of birds were hovering.

Draco shook his head. "How the hell am I supposed to know?"

"Well I don't know do I, and I can't tell you what to do because I have even less of a clue than you do. To be honest with you Draco, this whole situation is starting to drive you insane, and in turn it's beginning to drive me insane. And that look you've been wearing permanently painted on your face recently, it's disturbing."

"And what look is that exactly?"

"The one you're giving me right now." Draco scowled. "The one that screams 'I'm angry with the whole world and I might kick the living daylights out of you if you're not careful' look. What's bought this about today?"

It wasn't just today, it was everyday. He was distracted by a cold breeze ruffling his hair. The feeling of air surrounding him so high up from the ground was the best thing he'd felt all week and cleared some of the troublesome thoughts that had been persistent in antagonising him. The warm October sun, only partially obscured by winsome clouds, tickled the skin at the back of his neck; it was pleasant, calm - peaceful. If only he could stay up there forever.

If only he didn't have this damned marriage to think about.

The thought of whether or not to tell Granger had been itching away at him for a while, plaguing him with indecisiveness. Should he put an end to her very much obvious suffering by giving her the answers she anxiously wanted? Or should he keep those answers to himself and draw out her frustration so she could feel how he felt, like being rubbed away at until you're so raw there's not much left. The old Draco would have followed any objective that led to her suffering, but then again the old Draco wouldn't have had a moments' hesitation or regret in making Granger suffer, not the way he was hesitating now.

"In your opinion," he said, turning to look at his dark-skinned friend in earnest, "what do you think I should do?"

Blaise thought about it cautiously. "I guess there are several ways of looking at it. Putting aside all personal feelings, as difficult as that may be; I think Granger has every right to know why what has happened between the two of you has occurred. How else can she realise the significance of it all, or understand the enormity of what you have done? Withholding the information from her is immoral, and," he stated with a rueful smirk, "some might say more than a little cruel. You don't attack a defenceless person do you? And you don't keep the truth deliberately from someone when you think their life is in danger."

"In theory. But I can hardly say I don't know many people that wouldn't attack a defenceless person, and neither can you."

"And so it comes to the crux of the matter. This isn't any ordinary issue because we're not talking about just anyone here. We're talking about Granger."

"So you think because it's Granger and because of our history together, I shouldn't tell her. I should be deliberately cruel because that's what I would have done in the past."

"That's not what I said, that's what you just said. That's what is going through your mind this very instant. This isn't about whether it's right or wrong to give her the answers, this concerns two people who couldn't dislike each other more. You think you shouldn't give her anything because she's a muggleborn witch who's beat you academically every year at this school, because you've been brought up to hate her and everything she represents. You think you shouldn't tell her because of that prejudice, and you're trying to convince yourself that's what you still think."

"I'm trying to convince myself not to tell her why we had to get married because that would make her suffer and that's what I should want?" he questioned, confusion straining against his features.

"Precisely - except you're not so sure anymore because you've started to doubt your old beliefs. You're not so convinced or so sure that what you've been taught is right anymore, and that makes a part of you want to tell her."

"But I can't stand her, she's insufferable."

Blaise laughed. "And so are you sometimes. Hey," he countered when Draco shot him a look, "you asked for my opinion."

"I didn't just get an opinion though; I got a complete analysis of my psyche and yet still managed to learn nothing."

"Gee, you're too kind Draco. Why don't you go and bore someone else with this if I'm not helpful enough for your liking. I'm sure Snape is a pro at heart-to-hearts."

Draco growled in frustration. His burst of temper caused his broom to jerk wildly above the pitch and he struggled to get it back under control. He pointed down at the pitch to Blaise, who nodded. They flew down in silence.

"If you're still confused," Blaise continued when their feet were firmly back on the ground, "then look at it from her point of view. Granger has absolutely no real idea about why what happened that night at your house. She only had Dumbledore's word to go on that she should marry you, and she has absolutely no idea why. Now he may have his reasons for not telling her about it, but I fail to see the benefit of such a decision aside from it driving her insane. It's like if you lost your sight all of a sudden and Dumbledore told you that Harry Potter was going to be your guide dog up until further notice. How would you feel?"

"What's a guide dog?"

Blaise laughed at that. Even for a pureblood, Draco's knowledge of the muggle world was substandard to the norm. "Don't worry; it's a muggle thing. If you're a blind muggle, you usually have a specially trained dog that helps you see or something..." he trailed off. "What I'm trying to get across is that you have to think of it like this: up until two months ago, know-it-all Granger knew nothing about you aside from the fact that you came from an extremely wealthy pureblood family fond of the dark arts and that you particularly disliked her muggleborn kind and all of those who liked them. And then all of a sudden, Dumbledore is telling her that she has to marry you for a reason she's not allowed to know about - I mean, come on. That's quite a lot to handle don't you think?"

"And what about me? Don't you think it's quite a lot for me to deal with? To-"

"I never said it wasn't. But it's not entirely her fault she was forced into it either, you had a choice remember. And you have all the facts. At least at night when you can't sleep you can go over and over how unfair and unjust it is in your head knowing the reasons why, even if it's of little comfort. She doesn't have the luxury of knowing why, and that is seriously going to mess you up."

"So I should tell her then?" he asked again.

Blaise rolled his eyes, wondering how many times he'd have to go through it. "This isn't about me, this is about you. I can't make this decision for you. But honestly, I think Dumbledore should have told her a long time ago. He has his reasons which most probably are aimed at doing what he think is best for Granger, but whether that's right or not only she can tell you." He sighed. "If I were you right now, I would give her the facts at least - so she knows what she's dealing with."

"She's desperate to have them," Draco scoffed, "I don't think she'll be so desperate when she finds out the truth, when she realises how much danger she's in."

Blaise shrugged his shoulders. "That's another matter entirely mate, and I suggest you don't mull over it too much. There not much more you can do about that, aside from what you've done. I'd rather know that there is a strong possibility I might die in the near future than have someone keep something like that from me, that's for sure. Give her the answers, Draco, if only to ease your own conscience. You owe her nothing you know. Granger just doesn't know that yet."

Their conversation came to a natural end. It was lunchtime and students had started to filter out from the castle, deciding to make the most of the nice weather and eat outside despite the cold.

"So much for my free period," Blaise lamented, throwing his broom over his shoulder and walking past Draco towards the school. "You coming to lunch?" he called back when he realised Draco hadn't followed him.

He looked lost in thought. "No. I'll grab something from the kitchens later."

"Suit yourself," Blaise replied. His tone gave the impression of disinterest but his look said something else entirely, but before Draco could question him he was walking back to the school leaving him alone.

He stood rigidly on the pitch, his broom languishing against the ground. A twig was coming loose near the bottom and he bent down to fix it, wondering how it could have possibly come unhinged. His Firebolt was his most precious belonging and he treated it as so. His fingers struggled against the bindings, and when he failed the third time at securing the offending wood back into place, he pulled it off harshly and tossed it aside.

The pitch filled with the sound of happy conversation and laughter. It grated against his skin. He got to his feet hastily, cursing each and every student he saw because they weren't in his situation, cursing them all because all they had to worry about was when the war was coming. His had already started.

He made it back to his room in record time. Placing his broom in its hold, he dropped his bag against the desk and pulled out the mail that he hadn't opened at breakfast. He flicked quickly through the letters not bothering to open them, they couldn't be important. Not one was from his parents again he noticed dismally, throwing them aside. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

Glancing down, his eyes were drawn to his copy of the Daily Prophet. It was a habit to glance through it each morning before he ate, even if it was a poor excuse for a newspaper these days it was useful at least in shedding some light as to what was going on outside of Hogwarts, and he'd rather be a little wrongly informed than not informed at all.

A headline caught his attention. Without thinking he snatched it, flipping to the usual page.

Obituaries.

The column was getting bigger all the time. On the list of seven names of wizards to die the day before, he knew one.

It was one of the names he had been checking the paper for every day since he'd got back to school.

Henry Butterbridge.

Well, that was that, his decision had been made for him. He'd tell Granger today, as soon as he saw her. Newspaper still in hand, he walked back out into the common room and proceeded to wait for her to return.

It didn't take long for her to appear.

He heard the key turn in the lock and waited for the inevitable. It wasn't shock at the news of Henry Butterbridge's death or of the possible consequences of the Dark Lord having knowledge of what he had done that made him want to baulk. Instead it was fear of how Hermione Granger would react to what he was about to tell her. But it was too late, there was no disappearing. She was already here, and there was nowhere else to run. It was now or never. Draco would had preferred never. "He's dead," Draco said unexpectedly. It wasn't exactly how he'd planned to start.

"Who's dead?" Hermione replied, bewildered but with a sense of dread creeping through her.

"The minister who married us." Hermione stopped breathing and there was a long moment in which a painful quiet smothered them, the accusation left hanging in the air.

Draco focused his eyes on a tapestry on the wall.

Hermione felt like she'd been wiped out by a Bludger. "He's dead?" She asked desperately, stepping forward slightly, "but, how-"

"-I think you'd better sit down," Draco interrupted, tearing his eyes from the tapestry. He moved to shut the door, pulling his wand out from his cloak as he did so to cast a silencing spell over the room. Not that there was much point, silencing spells were easily broken. He turned around and was not surprised to find that she was still rooted to the spot. "I'm going to tell you everything." He declared.

"Everything?"

"Yes." He thought he saw anguish briefly on her face.

"You're going to do it now?" she inquired.

Draco moved across the room and sat down in one of the over sized chairs.

"Obviously it seems like there is no better time." He glanced at the article in the paper that lay open on the table. The photograph showed the minister, Henry Butterbridge, laughing up at him happily, a fat grin plastered across his face. Draco was too ashamed to admit that he felt sick knowing that Butterbridge was no longer alive; that he had left three children behind and that there was a possibility his death was due to his link to them.

Hermione had decided to finally do as he had told her and sat down on the sofa opposite his chair, although she was so far on the edge of her seat that he wondered if she was in danger of falling off. Such a thought would have usually given him much amusement, but not today.

"Do you think he's dead because of, well _you know_, because of us?"

Draco shook his head. "I'm hopeful that's not the case - witches and wizards are dying all the time at the moment, countless more are disappearing every day. It could be a pure coincidence."

"But it _could_ also mean –"

"Granger," he cut in rudely, "even if Butterbridge was murdered because of some weak connection to us, I am quite confident that _even if he was_ tortured, he would not have spoken our names or revealed the fact that we were married." She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain. "The liquor that the minister drank that night was spiked with a Befuddlement draught, and my father personally performed a confundus charm on him as he left the manor. Henry Butterbridge wouldn't have remembered a damn thing that happened that evening when he left; he wouldn't have recognised our faces if he'd walked besides us in the street. He thought he was celebrating saving my mother's cat from up a tree."

"You and I both know that Voldemort has the ability to see past a Beffudlement draught and a confundus charm."

"Even so," he replied offhandedly.

Hermione was getting frustrated now. "Then I don't understand; why are you so worried about his death if you think there's nothing to fear?"

"I'm not worried!" Draco replied indignantly.

"Well you're acting very strange for someone who is so fine and dandy about the whole thing!"

"Do you want to listen to the rest of what I have to say, or do you want to continue to sit there in ignorance and try and psychoanalyze me?"

There were many things Hermione wanted to say to him in response to that but she made the incredibly difficult decision to keep them all to herself.

Draco sighed, his gaze resting on the intricate cover of the arm of his chair. He toyed with it. "I'm not so naïve as to think everything turns out the way it's planned out too, Granger. I'm well aware that The Dark Lord has his ways of revealing secrets that have been hidden by spells such as confundo, he doesn't face any difficulty in that regard. Secrets are normally kept hidden because the ways and means of revealing them can easily destroy the bearers mind. The Dark Lord would not have cared. And no," he added, "before you ask, an unbreakable vow was out of the question for keeping this secret. And a Fidelius charm too. Mr Butterbridge had already performed an incredibly complex and powerful spell that evening,- even if he did not remember doing so. Involving him in an unbreakable spell too? We might as well have wrapped him up ourselves and sent him straight to the Death Eaters with a stamp of his forehead he would have stood out so much. Powerful magic leaves traces; he would have shone like a beacon in the middle of a desert at night if we'd done anything else."

Hermione took a moment to process his lecture. She wanted to hurl all of the questions that she had been collecting all this time at him in one furious tirade, but she held them back. She'd waited two months to get any answers and she wasn't about to mess up this opportunity. For a moment she almost felt grateful to Henry Butterbridge. "The spell – is this spell, whatever it is, what all of this is about?"

"If you're going to understand what it is and why it's important, you first have to know the events that led to you being brought to my house that evening in August." Draco paused for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. "Dumbledore believes that you shouldn't know what was discovered in August because he wants to protect you," Draco drawled, obvious bitterness in his voice, "Protect you like you're a porcelain doll that should be wrapped in cotton wool for as long as he sees fit. It's obviously not a courtesy he spares for all of us because he seems to be quite willing to hang me out to dry if it suits his purpose." The cover of the arm chair was starting to fray at the edges where he had been picking at it absentmindedly.

"This doesn't have anything to do with a weapon that Voldemort is building, does it?"

Draco's head jerked up to face her; it felt like she'd slapped him around the face. "How do you know about that?" he asked sharply.

She kept her face impassive. "How do you?" she countered.

He huffed. "I can't tell you."

Hermione smiled ruefully at his answer and replied with her own. "I just don't want to."

He watched her carefully with narrowed eyes. "I don't have to tell you a damn thing, remember."

"True. But you're going to - you want to. You're desperate to get this off your chest. It's eating away at you the way that not knowing is eating away at me."

Draco smirked and shook his head. "Eating away at my chest? Wrong again. And people call you the smartest witch in our year? That's abysmal."

There was a malicious gleam in his eye that sent alarm bells ringing in her head. She was off of the sofa in an instant. "Who have you told?"

"That's none of your business."

"I think it is you bastard, seeing as it concerns me. Who did you tell?" Tears were springing at her eyes and she wanted to cry, but she forced them back defiantly.

"Sit down," Draco warned as his eyes narrowed at her.

"No, you deceitful, horrid, ass-"

"Granger." The anger that had started to bubble in his chest was becoming difficult to control. He was afraid he might hit her if she didn't stop acting like a child.

Hermione turned around quickly, trying desperately to stop the tears that were springing at her eyes from spilling, to keep them from her voice. "What right _exactly_, do you have to discuss what happened that night with anyone when I –"

"I said sit down!" Draco yelled furiously, banging his hands against the armrest. He jumped up and Hermione tumbled backwards when she saw the look of fury on his face as he advanced her. Six years of anger and hatred were held in that one look.

Hermione swallowed nervously, glancing around the darkening room earnestly, wanting to put as much space between them as possible and yet not make any movement or do anything that would send him over the edge. She skirted around the sofa, her eyes not leaving his for a second, and silently sat as far away from him as possible.

"Do you deliberately act like this to test my resolve?" he muttered, turning his back to her and walking to the fireplace. He bent down and tossed a few logs into the grate, using his wand to light them effortlessly. "Because right now I am very close to losing whatever control I have that is stopping me from hexing you."

She watched him as he hovered on bent knees in front of the fire, light from the flames tickling the walls and catching his hair, making it shine unnaturally. It was transfixing in the oddest way.

"I'm not going to let you demean me and treat me like I'm scum just because you think you're superior," she said eventually when she had torn her eyes away, focusing on one of the tapestries on the other side of the room.

Her eyelids felt heavy and she could easily have let sleep taken her that instant.

"Oh you should, when you find out that I've most likely saved your life by risking my own. You should be down on your knees thanking me."

That got her. Hermione's eyes snapped wide open and she stood too quickly, swaying on the spot. Suddenly he was no longer by the fire but standing close to her, watching her with interest.

"What?"

"You heard me perfectly clear."

She closed her eyes briefly, trying to stop the spinning that was threatening to overwhelm her before opening them again and focusing on him.

"Dumbledore thinks that the weapon the Dark Lord is building is some sort of magical amplification device - one that can exploit the magic of a witch or wizard and channel it in for some sort of attack. Obviously such a weapon would require a witch or wizard as a sacrifice."

"A sacrifice?"

Draco noticed that was no longer looking at him, but focusing hard at a spot on the floor by her feet. "That's what I said," he stated tersely, sitting down wearily in the armchair he had occupied previously. His head ached from the strain and he rubbed his temples.

"Is it me?" she asked hesitantly, lifting her gaze to focus on his.

Draco couldn't say it.

"Does Dumbledore think that Voldemort wants me?" When he still didn't say anything she continued, "If it involves me then that would explain everything that's been happening recently." She took a deep breath, cocking her head to the side as she thought. "It obviously wouldn't be you, so wanting me is the only scenario I can think of that explains the way you've been acting towards me, and the way you look at me."

"And how's that exactly?" Draco asked blankly.

"Like you wish I was dead. Like I've committed an unforgivable crime against you and have been rubbing your face in it every day." Hermione turned to him and he could only meet her gaze for a second before looking away. It told her all she needed to know. She took a deep breath and tried to still the shaking that had taken a hold of her hands.

"He wants to use you. Only you."

"Oh." She sat down slowly, her mind a million miles away. Hearing such a confirmation was like being punched in the stomach.

"Lord knows why," he scoffed, fiddling with the armchair cover again, although they both knew of many reasons why. The logs crackled in the fireplace. "Dumbledore came to our house not long after he became privy to the information over the summer," he continued. "It was then that he asked me if I would be willing to help him protect you."

Her voice was soft when her answer to that came, barely there. If he had caught her by surprise with such an admission she hid it well. "And how did he propose you do that?"

"He had numerous ideas, but there was only one that he seriously considered might work. Our marriage was necessary to satisfy an ancient wizarding law," Draco began, diving headfirst into it. They'd been skirting around the issue too long. "The contract we signed that night was magically and legally binding, like our very own personal unbreakable vow. Without it the minister would have been unable to cast the spell on us, the spell that protects you – the spell that all of this is about."

"So the marriage was just a practicality?" she managed to say, still not managing to control her shaking hands. She stuffed them between her legs.

"Yes. If he had tried to cast the spell on us and we had not been formally married then there would have been no keeping any of this secret from anyone. Ancient, old spells that are now all but illegal have a way of broadcasting themselves and of making themselves known."

The calm that had descended between them was unnerving. "What is the spell?" she asked, trying to smother whatever serenity had settled in the room with them. It wasn't right.

"Cruor vitualamenatus," he spat. "I doubt you would have heard of it - yes, even you," he clarified when she shot him a disbeliveing look. "It's one of the forgotten spells; ancient and dangerous magic that is no longer practiced in the wizarding world because it is morally unjustifiable and downright dangerous. Few know much about the forgotten spells because they are simply that - forgotten. They were never written down in any books and over time, as their use diminished, they disappeared from common knowledge."

"But you knew about it?"

"My grandfather told me a story or two about them when I was much younger. He was in favour of bringing many of the forgotten spells back into use, he was one of the few to not condone them and spoke relatively freely of them. Most don't care for it, they don't bother listening. Many are too afraid to think of the consequences."

Hermione could barely control her curiosity, she wanted to ask him why, but that wasn't the most important thing right now. "Cruor vitualamenatus_,_" she said slowly, trying to translate the latin. She chewed her lip as she pictured the words in her head. "Blood sacrifice, literally."

He snorted at her ability to figure it out so quickly. He figured she'd get it on her own.

"Am I right?"

She took his smirk as a yes for what it was worth. For a while only the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room dared to break the silence that stretched between them.

"When Lilly Potter sacrificed her life for Harry's all those years ago, Dumbledore told him that her sacrifice protected him from Voldemort in a way that he could not understand, and that that protection flows though his veins to this very day." She watched him carefully. "Ancient magic."

"The selfless act of someone willing to make a sacrifice to protect another, that's what Potter's mum did for him, and doing so she placed on him powerful magic, stronger than anything the Dark Lord has. That type of magic is very old, very powerful, but the only way it works is if the act of sacrifice is made wholly for the other person. You can't fake it, you can't obtain it half-heartedly. But, you can try and mimic it."

Hermione's head felt like it might combust. "Mimic-" Suddenly everything clicked. "How?"

"It works pretty much in the same way. Obviously you cannot force someone to 'willingly' make a sacrifice for you, they tried that countless time millennia ago, and it didn't work. But somehow, someone found a way around it, found a way to achieve the benefits without the high cost, so to speak, using the spell as some sort of buffer. It was used quite frequently centuries ago, but even then there were certain rules to dictating its use, including a legal marriage. You can think of countless reasons why it's hardly practiced anymore."

"So...Dumbledore is using you to try and protect me?"

"Pretty much. I offer my blood to protect yours, the spell binds us and the potion Snape makes for us helps, and the marriage satisfies the legal rules. _When_ he gets you, and he most certainly probably will, the spell will hopefully work against him and whatever he tries to do to you won't work, at least for a little while."

"But that's...ludicrous, completely and utterly-" She paused thinking of a word that could sum up how ridiculous this whole thing was beginning to sound. "This doesn't make sense! Even if _he_ did get to me, even if he did want to use me and this spell works, surely he will just use someone else-"

"Granger, stop rambling!"

"What Dumbledore has asked of you is completely unfair!" Hermione cried, her breath coming in huge gasps as she stuggled to maintain any semblance of control."He'll just choose someone else!"

Draco shook his head.

"Why you? If Dumbledore was so intent on doing this, why would he ask you?" She stared him straight in the eye. "Why would you do this for me? I'm the mudblood remember?"

Draco fought the burning sensation of anger and unjustness that sparked under his skin, looking away uncomfortably. "I had my reasons." His tone made it perfectly clear that those reasons were not for sharing.

"So much trouble just because Voldemort plans to...plans to use me in some sort of weapon..." She stopped fidgeting and looked up, her confusion ebbing. "There has to be something else to it surely. Why else go to all of this effort, why else put others in danger, just to protect me? He's after Harry all the time. I'm one of his best friends, and I'm a muggleborn, and I'm not too modest to say that I've been the smartest witch in our year for the last six years. Of course he might come after me to get to Harry, everyone knows that. But why would Dumbledore resort to this? There has to be something else."

"Selling yourself a bit short aren't you Granger?"

It was her turn to start shaking her head. "Not at all. I'm just not so naïve to think that my life is more important than any other, and that includes yours."

Draco didn't know what to say to that.

Hermione supposed she should be grateful that he had finally given her the answers she'd been waiting for, searching for, for months. Grateful even for what he had done, under no circumstances had she imagined in her wildest dreams that he would have done something liked this.

Hermione wanted to get up and run as far away from him as her legs would carry her, but for some reason she couldn't get them to work and so she was stranded to sit there helpless in his presence. She wished desperately that she could tear her eyes away from his face, but they seemed to not want to respond either. Her hands shuffled uneasily in her lap. "I never thought – never thought that you..." She couldn't finish.

He was looking back at her, his face wholly impassive now compared to what it was before. She wanted him to sneer or be insulting so she could have at least a moment of normalcy to clear her head. She opened her mouth to speak, but there were no words to convey what she wanted to say.

"What - what happens to you, if he tries to use me..."

"It doesn't matter."

She looked outraged. "Yes it bloody well does! What happens to the person who's made a sacrifice?"

"I think it's best if you don't know."

"Bullshit. Tell me," she pleaded, edging closer to him. A strand of hair had fallen across her face and she tucked it behind her ears for lack of a better thing to do.

"Granger-"

"TELL ME!"

"You want to know?" he drawled, his face dissolving into fury as he rose from his seat and closed the space between them. She recoiled, shrinking back into the sofa. "Do you honestly want to know?" He was leaning over her now, his hands either side of hers, but she was through with his attempts of intimidation.

"Oh no, just keep me in the dark why don't you," she hissed, bringing their faces inches from each other.

"I suppose I don't deserve to understand what you've given up, to at least try and understand-"

"Understand?! You can't possibly begin to understand what I've given up."

"Then tell me so I-"

"Worst case scenario, I lose my magic. Best case scenario, my life."

The colour flooded from her face and it felt as though a ton of lead bricks had been dumped on her shoulders as nausea pulled at her stomach. Exhaustion washed over, him being so close to her was suffocating but she couldn't move, couldn't even blink. For the longest moment they remained stuck there, frozen, until he looked away quickly and withdrew away from her, rubbing his face in his hands. Maybe he was as tired as she was. He obviously had more reason to be. She watched him warily as his words played over and over again in her head like a drum constantly pounding.

She was going to be sick.

She stood up too quickly and had to hold onto the arm rest until she regained her balance. His eyes were on her, she could feel them, but she had no idea what he was thinking and no idea of what he expected from her. A feeling that she was floating on air settled in her stomach, light and dizzy, she thought she was about to crash back down to earth again unless she got away.

"Wait – where are you going?" Draco demanded as she headed to the door and disappeared through it. He followed, surprised at how fast she was.

"Granger!" He watched as she hurried away; not really thinking about why he suddenly felt concerned about what she was about to do. "Granger, where are you –" he called out, breaking into a run when she disappeared around the corner. It didn't take him long to catch her up.

"I'm going to the library," she told him blankly, not breaking her stride.

She was clearly wrong in the head. But then so was he. "Why exactly?"

"To do some research."

He sneered. "You won't find anything to help you in the library."

She didn't agree. "I might."

Draco heard the nearly hidden desperation in her voice. "I doubt it." He grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop in the deserted corridor. Outside the sky was clouding over and the temperature inside had dropped significanly. He felt the shiver run across her skin. "You're in shock."

"No. I'm not."

He raised an eyebrow.

"If you're worried that I'm going to tell Harry and Ron, or go to Dumbledore, there's no need. I won't tell a soul. But right now, seeing you and knowing what I know is making me feel rather nauseous, and I would quite like to keep some self-respect by not throwing up all over you." She pried his hand from her arm, gazing up at him with an expression that told him nothing, and started off down the corridor again.

He started turn around and go and find something to punch the living daylights out of when he heard her footsteps stop. His gaze drifted back to her.

"I suppose a thank you won't ever really be enough, will it?"

Draco heard the bitterness in her voice, the stone walls amplifying it. He was about to say something in return, but she'd already gone.

~o~

No one particularly liked having a double Transfiguration lesson late on a Thursday afternoon, especially the seventh years. McGonagall was particularly irritable on Thursdays, something she shared quite openly with her students, and today it was Neville's turn to be subject to her wrath.

"Mr Longbottom!" she cried out in frustration from behind her desk for the fifteenth time, her shrill voice ringing out across the room. The rest of the class sank further down in their seats lest she pick on one of them next. "Mr Longbottom, we are supposed to be transfiguring our water goblets into a bouquet of flowers cleanly and quietly, we are not trying to make our desks look like flooded plains. Clean that water up immediately and try harder. There are further instructions are on page 357 of Advanced Transfiguration should you be struggling."

Neville reddened as he started to mop up the water that had spilled from his half transfigured goblet all over his book with his sleeve. Next to him, Seamus kindly whispered a drying spell before returning to his own mess. Neville smiled gratefully.

"Where's Hermione?" Ron muttered to Harry as he turned his goblet into a weed, cursing under his breath.

Harry glanced at the empty seat next to him. When he looked up, McGonagall was watching him from behind her glasses sceptically. "I don't know," he replied truthfully as he turned to face him, picking up his wand and twisting in around his fingers. "She never misses a class willingly."

"She never misses any class, full stop." There was concern in his voice. "Where do you think she got to?"

Harry shrugged. "She seemed fine at lunch." _Where was she?_ He'd worried the slightest bit when she hadn't come down to the Quidditch pitch like she said she would after lunch, but had brushed it aside knowing how much work she had on her plate. But missing class, that wasn't very Hermione.

"Maybe she got caught up in Head's duties or something, I'm sure there's a perfectly logical explanation." Ron didn't sound so sure.

"Maybe. I'm just worried, something's been different with-"

"Mr Potter! Mr Weasley!" McGonagall shrilled, sending them both angry glares. "You are supposed to be working in silence, not having idle chit chat!"

"Sorry, Professor," they both intoned guiltily, returning to their work in silence.

When the lesson ended half an hour later, there was a mad rush as every student hurried at packing away their things to try and be the first out of the class.

"You two," McGonagall said to Harry and Ron as they'd just put their bags over their shoulders and started walking out. "A quick word if you don't mind."

They stopped near the door, a mutual look of understanding passing between them.

McGonagall's face had softened. "Do you know why Miss Granger skipped class this afternoon?" she asked.

"Ugh, she wasn't feeling well after lunch," Harry lied as Ron shook his head and said "No."

"Smooth," Harry whispered as McGonagall crossed her arms knowingly. He shifted his bag against his shoulder. "We don't know where she is, Professor, we were just going to go and find her now." Ron nodded beside him.

McGonagall sighed. "Well then," she said briskly, "when you do find Miss Granger would you please inform her that skipping lessons for any reason other than for a genuine illness is wholly unacceptable. I don't want to see it happen again." She looked like she was about to say something else but decided against it.

"Of course Professor," Harry said, hitting Ron on the arm. "Come on," he hurried, heading out of the class.

Ron looked to Harry as they emerged into the busy hallway. "Where do you think-"

"The library. Definitely the library," Harry finished for him, setting off in that direction.

"Where else?" Ron joked, but there was a hint of anxiousness in his voice. It suited the mood perfectly.

~o~

He was losing himself. One minute he was perfectly normal, hating Granger, feeling angry towards Granger, blaming Granger...and then there was the abnormal part of him that could treat her almost civilly, almost feel some sort of protection towards her, or at least less hatred than he was used too. It was getting tiring fast; wondering which version of himself he should try and be each time he was around her.

"Are you going to say anything at all, or just sit there and brood like some hormonal teenage girl?" Blaise inquired from behind the book he was reading as he turned a page.

"I'm not brooding, I'm thinking."

Blaise laughed. "Sure you are."

They were the only ones out on the Quidditch stands that evening, occupying the uppermost level. It was dark and there was a nasty chill in the air but it was a small price to pay for relative solitude.

"Look, I'm happy to lie here and keep reading all night long whilst you continue to sit there and brood, but you told me at dinner," Blaise began, checking his watch for the time, "a whole hour ago that you wanted to talk and yet you haven't muttered more than ten words since we got here. So talk, or I'm leaving for better company."

Draco exhaled loudly in frustration, running his hands through his hair. "I told Granger."

Blaise slammed his book shut and sat up, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Say what?"

"I told her what she wanted to know."

Blaise had a manic grin on his face. "Did you now?"

"Yes. Don't say it like that."

They shared a pointed look. "Oh boy." Blaise chuckled, it seemed appropriate. The whole situation was absurd. "How did she take it?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. Reasonably well I think, at least until I told her what would happen to me if...well, if things went according to plan."

"I think I would go more than a little crazy if I had no idea of what they were and you suddenly dropped something like that on me," Blaise said diplomatically. "Especially considering your history with each other." Blaise let out a long, low whistle. "You don't waste any time do you? I was convinced that you would chicken out earlier."

"It's funny."

"You're damn right it is."

"No," Draco clarified, "its funny how one minute I can be so angry with her, to the point where I have to seriously restrain myself from wanting to hurt her, and then the next I'm almost concerned for her well being. How crazy is that? How can you jump from one to the other?" He looked out longingly at the forbidden forest. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"Draco," Blaise said carefully, not wanting to step on his toes, "why did you tell her?"

"What do you mean 'why did I tell her?', I thought you were of the frame of mind that she deserved to know what exactly was going on here? I distinctly remember saying to you less than six hours ago-"

"Alright, alright," Blaise replied quickly, holding his hands up in defence, "calm down, I know what I said. I'm not Crabbe or Goyle. But why did you do it when you could easily have backed out?"

He threw the paper folded up in his pocket towards him. "Page 12". Blaise looked at him cautiously before picking up the paper and flicking to the right page. "Obituaries," he said out loud, scanning the page. There were more than a few.

"Things have already started happening. That guy was involved." He pointed at the picture of the grinning wizard with rosy red cheeks.

Blaise screwed up the paper and threw it back at him. "That's not a reason, that's an excuse. Why'd you really tell her?"

"Because seeing her mope around the castle was more infuriating than telling her what she wants to know!" he exclaimed. "Because I'm the one that's going to lose everything, that's put everything at stake yet she's wondering around the castle acting like she's the victim all the time and it's driving me mad! I told her because I wanted her to know what I've given up, and it's not like I really had much of a choice. I wanted her to suffer because knowing is much worse than not knowing." He twisted the paper viciously in his hands.

"By the looks of things, she's been suffering quite well all by herself," Blaise said eventually. "Do you want to know what I think? I think you told her because you thought it was unfair that she didn't know, because for whatever reason that you're unaware of, you feel almost a little bit bad for her. And you can blame her all you want for this but it's not really her fault, and you know that. You offered to do this; you don't really give a crap about what happens to you - you made a choice that night in summer and now you're dealing with the consequences. Like hell you wanted to prove a point."

"I didn't agree to do this for her. She's still the mudblood, and that hasn't changed. I did this for my family, it's a means to an end and there is nothing more to it than that."

"Maybe that's how it was at first, but nothing ever remains so clear cut. Things change."

Draco kicked his foot against the board in front of him in frustration. "Nothing is going to change."

"It already has and you know that too. Either go with it, or continue to mope around and be generally an arse to everyone like you always have."

"This isn't exactly what I wanted to hear you know."

"Sorry," Blaise replied, not sounding sorry at all as he led back down on the bench, opening his book up to where he'd left off. "I'm looking to new horizons and all that rubbish. It's very refreshing."

He couldn't hold back a short laugh. "That's brilliant. That's all I need."

"Ok, now that we've successfully dodged the real bullet, lets get back to what's really the issue here. You told Granger that you've basically sacrificed yourself in order to protect her and you're angry at her for freaking out, but then again what did you expect exactly? Now you're all confused because part of you hates her for being an ungrateful mudblood, and yet some tiny almost significant part of you might just be a little bit worried about what's going on in her head."

"Only you could turn this into some soppy teen drama. I am not concerned about her. I wanted to strangle her earlier; and last time I checked, that's not a conducive sign for being concerned about someone."

"It's called conflict mate. Where did she go anyway, after you told her? I didn't see her at dinner."

"She went to the library. Probably to try and find a book on what do when your bitter enemy tells you that really, the marriage you were forced into isn't so bad really, it's the bit where your enemy has sacrificed himself to protect you from the Dark Lord, that's the real damning issue to worry about.'"

"You should probably check up on her."

"Excuse me? Zabini, what on earth has gotten into that head of yours lately? I am most certainly not going to check on her. I am not her babysitter."

Blaise stood up hastily, dusted off his robes and looked down at him with condescension marring his features. "No one said you were, but you really should make sure she's okay. What if she does something stupid to herself when you could have prevented it?"

"That's wishful thinking. She won't."

"What a waste of a sacrifice if she did though. Come on," he shouted over his shoulder as he ran down the steps with his book tucked under his arm, "it's just a quick check up, nothing taxing."

Draco rolled his eyes as he stood up and followed. Blaise always managed to turn the most sour, depressing issues into a light-hearted game.

"You know," Blaise said as they stepped into the entrance hall and began trawling the stairs, "Maybe she'll be really pissed off and throw a tantrum. I'd love to see that."

"All for seeing her suffer now are we?" Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I'm having a hard time deciphering what side you're on; you're even more conflicted than me."

The hallways were pretty busy as students milled around before curfew, their trip to the library taking far longer than normal thanks to Blaise having to say countless hellos to almost every female that they passed on their way. It infuriated Draco no end. He should have been acting like Blaise, flirting and joking around like a normal seventeen year old boy; he shouldn't have to be dealing with serious matters that made him feel old beyond his years.

The door to the library swung open and Lavender Brown, the most ostentatious female Gryffindor of the lot sauntered out. She took one look at them and her eyes narrowed.

"Did you do something to her?" she asked suspiciously, glaring at Draco as she stopped in front of him.

"Granger's in there then? Excellent." Blaise smirked next to him. "Always nice to see you Brown," he said as he gave her the once over.

She regarded him for a scant second with a raised eyebrow, giving him her most appalling look before shifting her focus back to Draco. "What did you do?"

"What are you talking about?" He asked, moving to push past her. She blocked him.

"You know very well what I'm talking about Malfoy," she said, jabbing a finger at him. "Hermione is holed up in there and she won't move for anyone. Obviously, you've done something to upset her and I'm going to find out what that is, and then I'm going to force you to fix it." She scowled. "Preferably before Harry and Ron find you and do something so stupid that they get expelled."

"And what makes you think I've done anything to upset her?"

She rested her hand on her hip. "I may be blonde, and you might think I'm stupid, and heck I probably act like an idiot most of the time, but I can tell when something is not right. Hermione's been acting strangely since the beginning of term, and I doubt that its pure coincidence that it started the moment she had to share the Head Dormitories with you."

"You're sticking your nose in places it really doesn't belong, Brown."

"Am I? Good." She folded her arms over her chest and waited expectantly.

"She's upset about the ball," Blaise chimed in when it was evident Draco wasn't going to say anything. "Granger and Malfoy had a bit of a spat about his lack of input with regards to, well, pretty much everything to do with it and things got a little...heated between them."

Lavender cocked her head to the side as she continued to watch Draco. He knew she wasn't buying it, her doe like eyes practically screamed liar as they bored into his.

"Whatever," she said eventually dropping her gaze as she fluffed up her long blonde hair with perfectly manicured nails. "You're a jerk. Just go and apologize please, if your lowly Slytherin manners will allow you to do so that is. The last thing she needs right now is to be worrying about your complete disinterest in school matters."

She shot another glowering look at Zabini and pushed past them without another word.

Blaise watched her retreating figure with interest, letting out a low whistle. "Wowsers."

Draco scoffed as he walked away. "Please. She's a Gryffindor."

"You're hardly one to talk mate."

"And suddenly I'm not in the mood to joke about it anymore," he replied forcefully, pulling the door to the library open with much more force than necessary.

"I'll see you later then," Blaise called after him, shaking his head as he walked back towards the dungeons.

The library was practically empty when Draco walked in, punctuated with the faint sound of pages turning and a damp, dusty smell he had hated since his first experience of the library six years ago. Madam Pince glared at him as he walked in but he paid her no attention. There were still ten minutes left until she had to kick him out, and he would use them all just to annoy her.

It was no surprise to find Granger hidden at a table near the back, but this time, unlike before; there were no books in front of her, no work - she wasn't even trying to pretend. He watched her from behind the bookshelf; she was wedged between the chair and the table with her knees squashed to her chest, looking like a broken woman. A hand poked out from the sleeve of her cloak, lazily tracing the lines on the weathered table, hooded eyes watching her own nail chip, chip, chipping away at the wood.

Draco was caught between pity and disgust, and he wondered exactly what he had come down here to try and do. It was one thing to make light of it all with Blaise, but another thing entirely to face Granger. And even then he couldn't help but think that he shouldn't have to be doing this. Couldn't she just pull it together?

"Go away," her voice was hoarse; reminding him of where he was. Behind him he heard the shuffling of books being slammed shut and satchels being clasped as the last few students packed away their belongings. .

He stepped forward defiantly, biting back the taunting remarks that came naturally to his tongue.

He could give her this moment to sulk, to deal with what she had been told. "You need to snap out of this Granger," he told her as he sat down on the chair next to her. She didn't look up, didn't make any movement at all to acknowledge his presence. Her nail kept working away at the table. "You're going to make yourself sick."

Nothing.

"You need to know," he continued, stretching his arms out in front of him, "that I would have done this regardless of who it was or what the consequences were. I need you to understand that."

Still she didn't lift her head to look at him, didn't give him any indication that she was listening. Chip, chip, chip.

"I wanted to prove to Dumbledore that my family are serious when they say they want out of the predicament that they're in, and this is my way of doing it. It's not about you, not entirely."

Hermione turned her head away from him, her face contorting in pain. "Can you just leave me alone? I don't want to see you."

Draco leant forward. "Did you hear what I just said?" he asked, his voice rising. "You're acting like a child."

Her hand fell against the table wearily, and she sighed.

"It doesn't matter what the reasons are for you doing it, they don't matter. It's that you did. It's that it's me on the other end of all of this." Her fingers started drumming against the wood. "Do you know what it feels like," she whispered, "to hear that someone who has been nothing but mean to you since the day you met has done something like what you have for me? Can you even imagine what that feels like? I feel sick. I wouldn't want anyone to do for me what you have done...I'd rather die than have someone do that for me." She nearly choked on such an admission. "There is absolutely nothing I can do that can match what you've done for me. Nothing. That's the worst part of it all."

"Granger, I did this knowing that-"

Her face fell. "Wrong thing to say," she muttered, cutting him off. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, letting her hands linger, blocking it all out. She'd been cooped up in that seat all afternoon, her thoughts drowning her, and now she wanted nothing more than to go to bed. Harry and Ron had found her after lessons had finished, begged her to come to dinner with them, wondered why she was acting strange all of a sudden and not telling them why. Ginny had come down to try and talk to her, Neville thought she'd might like to take a walk in the gardens, heck even Padma had asked if everything was ok. She'd managed to get rid of them all easily, lying that she was stressed about school work and heads duties. Even if they didn't buy it they took the bait and went with it. Lavender had been the worst though, coming back and plonking herself down in the seat opposite her, deciding it was the perfect time to work on planning the ball and talking non-stop about it for two hours.

Hermione was grateful, she really was.

But she was confused and tired and thinking about far too many other things.

Draco waited for her to say something else but she'd withdrawn again. Without thinking about what he was doing, he reached forward and pulled her hands away from her face. "You have to try and act normal. People are beginning to suspect that something is wrong, and you're making yourself ill by acting like this. Look, this whole situation...it's difficult I know. I haven't really done anything to make it easier-"

"Just shut up, shut up." She pushed him away, even though it made her muscles ache from the strain of trying. "Don't be nice. I can't handle you being nice." Pushing herself up from the table, she took a deep breath and tried to calm her shaking legs. "If anyone should be being nice, it's me. I'm in your debt remember." She rubbed her forehead again as her eyes willed themselves closed. Why was everything spinning all of a sudden? "You're messing with my head just by being here. Please go away."

He watched her with a frown. Something was definitely wrong. Even he wasn't as pale as she was now. "Granger," he started uncertainly as he stood up, "you don't look right to me - I think you should go to the hospital wing."

She stepped away from him. "You should just go away. Please. Stop being nice one minute and horrible the next. It's hard enough without having to decipher what mood you're in."

Draco slammed a fist against the table. He wasn't even sure why he was trying. "Why are you making this more difficult than it has to be? Sinking into a depression isn't going to make this situation any better!"

"You can hardly blame me for not jumping up and down for joy." She looked at him for the first time, her eyes hollow. It was almost embarrassing seeing her so vulnerable, he turned away ashamed.

"And you can hardly blame me for getting angry at you when you make it so hard for me to act civil."

She opened her mouth to say something and then clamped it shut again, shaking her head. The air was stifling her, making her drowsy. "I'm tired," she muttered, not to him in particular as she started walking away from the table. She managed two steps before her legs gave way underneath her. She shot an arm out to try and grab onto the bookshelf in front of her but Draco's lightening quick seeker reflexes allowed him to catch hold of her before she fell.

"Please, just don't," she begged dejectedly as she tried to steady herself, struggling against his arms. "Don't."

He kept hold of her, surprised how slight she felt against him. "I'm taking you to see Madam Pomfrey."

"No!" she exclaimed angrily, trying to disentangle herself from his grip. "There's nothing wrong with me. Get off. I'm fine."

She was delirious, that much was obvious, and maybe something else too. He loosened his grip slightly and she swayed unsteadily. Draco would have bet good money that at that moment she was a lot paler than he had ever been.

"You can let go now," she said coolly, looking down at where his hand was wrapped around her arm.

He let her go of her arm roughly, his patience stretched to the limit. "Look," he said harshly, "I understand that this couldn't get any worse for you, but you've got to pull yourself together. Acting like a spoiled brat isn't going to make this any easier. Forget about me, forget about what I've done, stop thinking about what might happen, because it's all pointless. All of this," he gestured with his arms, "was done to protect you, and even though you may think it's unfair, even though you're going to protest that you didn't want any of it, it's done and you're acting like a damned ungrateful fool." His arms fell against his side.

"It's not like I'm not trying," she told him pointedly, wrapping her arms around herself against the cold.

Suddenly Madam Pince rounded the corner.

The librarian stared fiercely at both of them, looking like she might devour them. "What are you still doing in here? The library is closed, shoo!"

She ushered them both out into the corridor and slammed the doors shut.

"Moody cow," Draco muttered to himself, glancing at Hermione beside him. "Granger?" Her eyes were shut and she was swaying viscously on the spot. "Granger?" he called again.

Her eyes snapped open but the light-headedness was starting to overpower her. "I can't forget what you've told me. I wish I could, because it's making me feel sick, but I can't."

"Pretend to then," he said rudely as they started walking back to the Head's quarters together. "What's wrong with you?" he inquired when they'd ascended two flights of stairs and had set off down the corridor. "Aside from the obvious," he added when she looked at him funnily.

"Nothing," she replied meekly, her teeth chattering as she rubbed her arms.

"Cold?" The tone of his voice had changed.

She shook her head, but it was obvious she was.

Draco exhaled noisily, shedding his cloak without another thought and handing it to her.

She stared at it as if it were some bizarre offering. "It's just a cloak," he said when she didn't take it.

Her eyes caught his. "I don't need it, we're halfway back already."

"Honestly," he exclaimed, wrapping over her shoulders before she could stop him, "you are the most infuriating witch in Hogwarts." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. The way he said it was almost reminiscent of a compliment.

Hermione was left reeling from the lunacy of it all. Later that night, when she was trying and failing to sleep, she swore she would never be able to understand Draco Malfoy.

~o~

**All thoughts, good and bad, are as always most appreciated. **


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**AN: I altered the bit about the potion. My mistake there.  
**

~o~

**Chapter Twelve**

**Moving On Now**

~o~

The best present Hermione had ever received was a charmed radio that her parents had given her for her thirteenth birthday. It was special not only because they'd ventured to Diagon Alley by themselves to procure it; not only because it was carved out of a single block of wood that had the most exquisite detailing, no, this gift was special because it could receive the Wizarding Wireless Network and muggle radio stations too. It was an object that linked her to both words and the fact that her parents had chosen it for her added to the sentimentality. Of course, with the threat of Lord Voldemort never further than one thought away in her mind, the radio had come in particularly handy in as it allowed her to keep up-to-date with what was going on in both the magical and muggle communities in the simplest way – she just had to listen. The WWN was probably just as manipulated and twisted as the Daily Prophet when it came to reporting the news, but it never hurt to be well informed, and it was always great to hear muggle music once in a while.

It switched itself on at 4:50 am like she had programmed it to do every morning, waking her with the Weird Sister's latest hit. It was loud, fast paced and had catchy lyrics; erasing easily every hint of sleepiness that resulted from only four hours sleep a night. It couldn't be helped. She threw off the covers before the song had even reached the chorus and got out of bed, barely noticing the cold that morning as she walked into her bathroom and turned the shower on. That too was set to freezing; it was the most effective way of clearing her head and removing the very last traces of weariness that dared to cling on after an insufficient night's sleep. She showered quickly, almost mechanically; each movement perfectly choreographed so that no time was wasted.

Five minutes later she was dressed and sat at her desk, the radio relocated beside her and tuned into BBC Radio 4 so that she could listen to the morning muggle news whilst she checked her diary and made sure that all of that days homework (which had been checked over three times since completion) was ready to be handed in. The clock usually read 5:03 when this was done.

What followed was two hours of intensive, uninterrupted studying. This time was not reserved for academic study which came later in the day, but for preparatory study, for when one has been informed that they are a personal target of the Dark Lord himself, one did not simply sit on one's laurels and await for the inevitable to happen, especially if that one was Hermione Granger. Oh no. That one planned for the eventuality, and it was something Hermione was taking very seriously. Two hours each morning before breakfast were spent studying advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts spells and techniques with books she had shamelessly stolen from the restricted section of the library using Harry's Invisibility Cloak two weeks earlier. A further half an hour was spent recapping these an hour before she went to sleep each night.

Every attempt she had made to learn anything about the spell had led to a dead end. It wasn't mentioned in any of the library books that she checked,

As well as keeping up-to-date with all the news she could get her hands on, she had also taken it upon herself to spend an hour each evening trying to memorise the layout of many of the corridors that lead from the Heads Dormitories to the main entrance, figuring out which routes were the most direct or offered the best vantages for hiding. She'd taken on extra patrolling duties in order to do it, never going alone, and the upside had been that she had become more popular with the prefects for doing so. No one said anything about it if they thought it was weird for fear that she would stop doing it, and so it had quickly become customary and unquestioned.

All of that, on top of the ongoing preparations for the Halloween ball, lessons, homework and ensuring she saw enough of her increasingly distant friends - it was a wonder she wasn't more tired.

Then there were her morning runs. Hermione was the first to admit that her physical abilities were at the opposite end of the spectrum when compared to her school work, hell she was probably the worst student in the school when it came to physical fitness. She was pretty certain that should Hogwarts students be graded for fitness she would be lucky to receive a T and that simply could not do. If she was to be fully prepared for the coming months then she had to be fit both mentally and physically. At least she'd stand a better chance that way.

Running was not her forte. She'd scheduled in thirty-five minutes each morning between ten past 7 and quarter to 8; any earlier and she would be trying to navigate her way around the grounds in absolute darkness, any later and she would risk running into students on their way to breakfast. Luckily, she had discovered a way back up to the Head's Dormitory through the Castle that no one seemed to use and had thus far avoided any confrontations. Hermione didn't need anyone asking questions, it wasn't as if she could answer them.

Malfoy of course was a potential problem, hiding something like this from him was almost impossible but there was absolutely no way she could allow him to know what she was up to. He would tell her that whatever she did was pointless because it had been taken care of, he would think that she was being irrational and not dealing with the issue, and she had promised herself that as far as he should be concerned, she was doing fine, great even. She was most definitely handling the situation with grace and poise and gratitude. Everything was as perfect as it could be.

That's all he had to know.

So every morning at 7:15 she would pick up her school uniform and the wash bag that had been neatly placed by her door the night before and she would walk straight out of her room into the common room, taking care to keep her footsteps as light as possible. She would wait until she was around the corner of the corridor before she would take one of her detours and jog to the Prefect's bathroom on the second floor, and then she would head out of the castle and run around it's perimeter as best she could. The first few times had been horrific, she'd barely managed to run for a minute without her breath becoming short and her muscles aching, the cold early morning temperatures scratching at her skin, but she was improving all the time. She had to be careful to stick to places where she knew she couldn't be easily seen, and then when she was done she would head back inside and hurry up to the prefects bathroom where she would take her second shower of the morning. This one was even quicker than the first, so worried was she that she would be caught, when she was done she would put her uniform on as quickly as possible, often before she was completely dry. The wash bag and running clothes were stashed at the back of one of the drawers that housed the clean towels, she would retrieve them later.

She'd rush back upstairs and would be back in her room just as the clock tower outside would strike 8 am, her heart hammering in her chest and her legs burning, with a rush of adrenaline that was her reward for being so successful. Hermione would give herself a few minutes to catch her breath and to allow the bright red colour on her face to fade before she would straighten out her appearance and then head down to breakfast.

It was a routine so beautiful she wondered however she survived without it. Of course, even Hermione was starting to believe that all that she was doing was good for her. The way she saw it, it was the best and only way to proceed with the knowledge she had now. Her way put everything into a perspective and logical order that any other option would not. There were no guesses, no gaps, no room for mistakes in her plan; she followed it to the letter and she felt fine about everything. The best part of it was that there was no time in her day to even start dwelling on marriage and sacrifices and threats. No time at all. And that allowed her to act normal, which was a good thing because she was annoyed at herself for the way she had reacted, and she was doing everything to stop herself from acting like it ever again.

Hermione had been doing this for three weeks now, and so far no one had noticed a thing. That morning she ran around the castle and washed ahead of schedule, arriving back at the Head Dorm's five minutes early. She opened the door to the common room, her hands shaking slightly as she put the key in the lock and as she pushed it gently, her ear listening out for signs of movement from inside. Hearing none, she pushed the door open the rest of the way and headed in, taking the steps two at a time to her bedroom and carefully shutting the door behind her so he wouldn't hear.

Relief graced her as she leant against the wall, her breathing heavy as she congratulated herself. She felt so energised she thought she could do another lap or two around the castle; it felt so good.

She checked her watch as she headed over to the mirror, running her free hand through her damp hair. Her face wasn't as blotchy or red as it had been yesterday, which was an improvement she noted, running her fingers over her skin. She would have to get a new uniform soon though, her skirt was feeling lose around her hips and her sweater was all out of shape. Without dwelling on it, she reached for the concealer and dabbed it under her eyes to cover the dark circles that had become permanent features of her reflection. She pulled her hair up into a prim bun although even that was made more difficult today with her twitching hands. She shook them out as she headed over to the dresser to search for a belt for her skirt, reminding herself to make a note of needing a new uniform in her diary.

She was halfway through putting on a thin black belt when there was a knock at the door. Hermione glanced around the room quickly before answering. "Come in."

It had happened a few times now, Malfoy knocking on her door in the morning. She couldn't remember exactly when it had started. The night after everything had been revealed she hadn't slept a wink. Her mind had been too alert, too frantic to slip into unconsciousness, and so she had resigned herself to sitting in her windowsill with a blanket draped over her shoulders as she went over everything that had happened in the last two months, tossing every morsel of information she had been given in her head until she could not bear to think of it any longer.

She had thought all night about what she was going to do about Malfoy. There was no possible way that she could continue acting like she had been around him anymore. She'd slipped up too many times, lost control of herself in front of him in ways that were truly embarrassing and ways that she hated thinking of herself as having acted. The weak, crying, angry Hermione that had shown face around him was not her and was most certainly not who she wanted to be. So what if what he had told her, what he had done for her, terrified her more than what Voldemort was planning to do with her? She couldn't break down or run away and hide anymore.

She was eighteen years old now and better than that.

Hermione had to be stronger.

The next morning, they had met unexpectedly in the common room. There had been no words, no agreements, no truce. Nothing of the sort, just an unspoken understanding. And things had been different between them ever since.

He appeared in her doorway just as she had finished doing up her belt.

"Morning," she greeted him courteously as she pulled her sweater down over the top of her skirt and reached for her robe.

It was weird, this sort of civility that existed between them now. At times the truce, if that's what it was, felt like it was constantly teetering on the edge of a precipice, a fragile pane of glass balancing between two yard sticks. It was threatening to shatter every second.

She had instigated it, the morning after the incident in the library, the morning after that day of revelations.

He hovered in the doorway, already fully dressed with his books under his arm, his blonde hair fluffy and unkempt. There was a quizzical look on his face. "Are you walking down to breakfast now?"

He was always so blunt. "Yes, just give me a second," she told him as she pulled her robe on over her uniform, brushing down the creases briskly. "I looked over the rota for next month's hall monitors," she told him as she grabbed the books she needed for the day from off of her desk and the sheet of parchment covered in his elegant handwriting.

He held the door open for her and she walked out ahead of him, handing him the parchment as she passed. "Any problems with it?" he asked when they were out in the corridor.

"No," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "It's a rota - there's not much that can go wrong with it - you're pretty thorough. Everything looked fine to me."

Malfoy nodded, tucking the sheet into his book. "Alright. Good."

Walking down to breakfast each morning was the only time they ever really got to talk without being interrupted, or without causing a row. Hermione was having a hard enough time trying to keep Harry and Ron calm about the new situation involving her 'relationship' with Malfoy and she was eager not to rub it in their noses. Obviously Malfoy did not wish to be seen conversing with the 'mudblood' in front of his fellow Slytherin's and so this had become a sort of unspoken compromise between them. Hermione was so occupied nowadays with her schedule and her active attempts at avoiding him in the first place that it had become the only time of the day she really had to see him, and that too helped her to think less about everything that had been done, which meant she could pretend successfully at least to be normal. It all added up quite nicely.

"I think we should have a prefects meeting at the beginning of next week to dictate roles the preparations for the ball or feast – whatever you want to call it."

"That's a good idea. How about lunchtime on Monday?"

He nodded an affirmative, and she grabbed a pencil from her pocket and made a note of it.

"You're taking the potion?" he asked suddenly.

"Of course."

"Everyday?"

"Yes," she lied smoothly as they descended a flight of stairs. She refrained from saying "why wouldn't I?", because she'd read somewhere a while ago that any exposition of a lie with a question instantly aroused suspicion. She'd only forgotten to take it on that one day, she'd taken it perfectly as instructed ever since. She'd considered risking a double dose, but not knowing what was in the potion exactly make her wary of that course of action. He didn't need to know about her mistake, it was probably insignificant.

She glanced up at him from the corner of the eye.

He cleared his throat and looked away.

"You don't have to do that you know, check up on me," she said hesitantly. "Three days ago you asked me if I was coping and I said I am, just as I said I was two days before that. There's no need to keep asking. I'm doing fine. I don't want you to ask."

He shrugged concomitantly, a smirk twisting dangerously at his lips. "Since when have I ever done what you've told me to do, Granger?"

"A lot more now than you've ever done."

They fell into a silence as they continued walking through the castle. There wasn't much to say when you didn't even really know what to think.

"Is there a reason your hand is twitching?" Malfoy asked after a while. There was still a way to go before they would reach the Great Hall.

Hermione glanced down at her right arm that was hanging by her side, immediately trying to still it. She was surprised he had even noticed; she'd barely felt it.

He smirked at her when she gazed up at his face. "To be a really good seeker, you have to have exceptional senses." The tone of his voice didn't quite match the foreign look in his eyes.

"Stop it. There's nothing wrong with my hand." He gave her a disbelieving look. "There isn't. You're being paranoid and once again I get the feeling that you're checking up on me, which I have asked you several times now not to do."

Malfoy shook his head, casually sticking his free hand into his pocket like he usually did whenever he wanted to seem uninterested. "Did you know that when a person suffers from lower than normal blood glucose levels, say when they don't eat enough, then their muscles start to shake and there is a risk of neurological damage. I'd really hate to see you lose your smarts Granger."

Hermione scoffed. "What the hell are you talking about? Actually, don't answer that, I don't want to know. Just stop talking to me about me." She tightened her grip on her books. "I knew this wasn't going to work," she muttered to herself. "There is nothing wrong with my hand, or with me so stop going on about it. I couldn't be dealing with this any better than I am."

Malfoy watched her suspiciously. It was quite clear that she was lying, but then he realised what he was doing and decided to drop it. It wasn't his place, she was right. He was about to make a snide remark when something caught his eye up ahead. "Looks like troubles approaching. It's your lucky day."

"Oh no, not again," Hermione said under her breath as Harry and Ron descended the opposite stairs. Any hope that they hadn't noticed that she was walking and talking to Malfoy went forsaken - if looks could kill then Malfoy would be lying stone cold dead on the floor already with a tombstone next to his head. Without saying goodbye to him she rushed towards them, hoping to avoid a fight.

To say that Harry and Ron had found her new civility with Malfoy difficult to accept was an understatement of the highest order – they simply couldn't. It had been hard for them.

Hermione because she couldn't very well explain the truth to them no matter how much she wanted to, or the reasoning behind why suddenly she and Malfoy had become so civil in their interaction. Her fragile plane of glass was tipping under her feet, with Malfoy pulling on one side, unwittingly and her friends on the other, knowingly.

"Hey guys," she greeted them politely, hopefully, as she stopped in front of them. They ignored her, their focus fixed on Malfoy over her shoulder. Hermione turned around quickly and caught his gaze, wishing he would hurry up and disappear. He cocked an amused eyebrow at her before disappearing down the stairs with a swish of his robes. She was glad he could find some humour in this sorry picture when she could not.

"Hermione," Ron started as she turned around warily, knowing full well what she was to expect from this lecture. He was looking down at her now, his bright blue eyes softening the smallest amount. He was still angry at her, they both were. "This isn't right. You shouldn't even be walking around the castle with him like that, he's a Malfoy remember -" He raised an arm as he exhaled, too frustrated to even finish.

She turned to look at Harry, and he shrugged his shoulders resignedly.

Of course they couldn't understand what was going on. How could they? If they had accepted this new arrangement she would have been seriously concerned, but then again, she didn't even really understand anything about it herself. She was expecting too much from them.

"Please, can you both just drop it for now? I don't want to argue about this again." She bounced on the balls of her feet, wishing desperately that they wouldn't drag this out. "I'm sorry this upsets you, and that you're not happy about this situation with Malfoy. But he and I getting along somewhat as we are benefits the whole school. You both know that."

Without waiting for them to reply, she turned around and started walking to the Great Hall.

"Hermione. Something serious is going on with you." Harry was besides her in an instant, pulling at her arm so that she had to stop in front of him. He tried to catch her gaze but she fixed her eyes firmly on the stone floor. "You're keeping something from us, and I know it involves Malfoy. Why else would you despise him one day and defend him the next? Why else would you suddenly seem to find it easy to be in his company?"

"It's not just that," Ron added, coming up on her other side so that she was trapped between them, stuck in a bottomless pit of worry. "You're pulling away from us, pretending to be working, pretending that it's stress when we know that that's not you. You don't eat anymore, you look like you never sleep. Heck, your hand isn't raised half as much as it used to be in class anymore." He picked up her hand in his gently, his large hands warm and full of friendship. "Why won't you tell us what's going on? Can't you see we want to help?"

Hermione didn't flinch. She'd rehearsed what to do in this situation so many times it was almost instinct now to act perfectly normal, even thought the force of how much she wanted to tell them tried desperately to ruin her attempts.

Oh how she wanted to stop lying and pretending, to be able to share this with them so she didn't have to deal with it by herself. Keeping secrets of this magnitude from them, her best friends, felt like betrayal. The words lingered dangerously on the tip of her tongue, threatening to spill, but she reigned them back in.

What good would telling them do? One moments comfort, solace for her, followed by disaster. There was no way that them knowing would make anything better. It would only make things worse.

"How many times do we have to go through this? I'm –"

"-fine, yeah we know," Harry finished for her. "You keep saying it, but we're not buying it. Look," he said; his voice and expression softening as he lowered his head to meet her gaze properly. "I can't concentrate on Voldemort if I'm worrying about you. You have to tell us what's going on. We don't keep secrets from each other."

"I know. But there are no secrets, and there is nothing to be worried about." She gave them a convincing smile. "I'm so grateful to have both of you." She squeezed both their hands, hoping the gesture came across as reassuring. "I really am. But trust me, aside from Heads duties, planning for this feast, keeping up with schoolwork and worrying about you Harry, there is nothing I'm keeping from you." She swallowed hard. "I promise."

~o~

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I *shamelessly* (like pretty much everyone else that post of ) love getting reviews – I'm not plugging for more I promise, they just really make my day. Even if you hate it, I like hearing what you think and more importantly why, so thank you for taking the time.**

**This chapter moves forward a little bit, and although I've delayed the action somewhat to make way for some slight plot changes, it is coming soon, so bear with me. **

**One more thing – I'm really conscious of not making Hermione in this story a Mary-Sue. Everything that happens to her or that she thinks happens for a reason, it's not just to make her more damaged for the sake of being damaged so that she can be a damsel in distress, because she isn't. I really debated about including her losing weight in this story, as I know how it might come across, but I'm sticking with it as its subtle and hopefully does not glamourise not eating in anyway, it's just a manifestation of what is happening to her as she tries to deal with everything, an unconscious thing if you like. **

**Anyway, thank you for reading!**


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